Starbright Victor
by what the face
Summary: I never really realized the amount of devastation I would feel in this moment. We both knew it was coming, that one of us would die. I envy him. He can't feel anything now, what with his heart still, never to beat again. I allow grief to swallow me whole.
1. Chapter One

_Disclaimer: _I do NOT own the Hunger Games. I, however, do own the characters in this fanfic. I created them, after all.

Starbright Victor

Altaira Izek

Chapter One: Time

* * *

My eyes snap open. The alarm clock I'd hastily put together last night is buzzing frantically, high-pitched and alarming. My reflexes are quick, and I've quickly hit the snooze button.

I rub my eyes sleepily. Sunlight filters lazily through my small window, and I have to blink for a few moments before the brightness doesn't sting my eyes.

Pushing my blankets off of my torso, I sit upright, wrapping my arms around my knees. _Reaping day, _I think with remorse.

"Altaira?" I hear my father call from outside my bedroom door. I make a non-committal sound of acknowledgement and he quietly pushes the door wide open, his hand on the door knob and a worried expression on his haggard face.

"Hey, Dad," I say, running my hand through my long, golden hair.

He smiles, but it does not reach his eyes. "Good morning, sweetheart."

"Is breakfast ready?"

"Yeah," he says. "Groosling."

A groosling is commonly found walking the streets in District Six. It's practically all we eat here, other than the berries and other various fruits that are sold in the markets at the back of town.

"Get dressed and I'll start serving," Dad says gently before closing the door behind him.

I do as he instructed me, pulling my long hair into a loose ponytail. I fasten it with my mothers blue hair ribbon because, it is, after all, the day of the reaping. I wear my only dress, which is made out of cotton and falls just above the knee. It's also blue, bought to match my sapphire eyes.

There's an average size, dented and chipped mirror leaning against the wall opposite my small bed. I take in my reflection.

I'm not beautiful, but I wouldn't say I'm ugly. I have a heart-shaped face, with big, round, sapphire eyes that are framed with heavy, black lashes. My nose is slightly smaller than usual, and my lips are full. My hair is the most admired for miles, but it can often be temperamental, so I almost always wear it up, as I am now. I'm about 5 ft 3, short and slight. My skin is like ivory with a small splash of light brown freckles across my nose and cheeks.

I turn away from the mirror and flounce down the loft's stairs to the small, untidy and cluttered kitchen that belongs to my father and I. My father is a scientific genius, so bottles and brews line the window sill just above the rusted kitchen sink. I stop to examine a new bottle I have never laid eyes on before.

"Hydrochloric acid?" I ask, turning to face my father who is busily serving the groosling. "I've never heard of it."

He chuckles, but again it doesn't sound convincing. "It used to be quite common in Ancient America. Caused lots of porblems, very acidic. Don't touch, it might burnt your hands off."

He's only half joking.

I lope back towards the kitchen table, and take a seat just as he places the plate of hot groosling in front of me. We don't own any silverware, so I dig in with my hands, the grease dripping down my fingers. I try not to get any on my dress.

"Dad," I say, in-between bites. "You're not worried about to reaping, are you?" I can tell by the look on his face that he is, so I decide to try and cheer him up a bit. "Because you shouldn't. What are the odds? A million to one, almost."

I smile at him kindly, but he doesn't seem to believe me. Dad hates the Capitol, just as we all do, but there's something else with Dad… something a little more personal. I never ask about it, but today I find myself more curious that ever. Still, I don't say anything; instead I finish off my groosling and tell Dad I'm going for a walk.

While I'm walking, I succumb to my negative thoughts. My name could very well be drawn today, and this could be the last time I ever walk these run-down streets. I know I will surely die in the arena if I am chosen. Sure, I'm not entirely hopeless with weapons, but there will always be a better fighter, a fighter I cannot possibly defeat.

And if I was to die, I hadn't lived a very fulfilling life, had I? I'd never really been close enough to someone to call them my friend and I'd wasted practically my whole life with my head buried in books. So, yeah, I was oine of the smartest girls in the district, but that wouldn't mean squat if I died in the Games. I'd never even kissed a boy!

As I walked, I saw no one. Usually, the streets were crowded with merchants and young children, sometimes morphling dealers. Once, I'd even passed a young boy of about eight who was about to set off a chemical bomb. Today, there was silence.

District Six always smells of chemicals and burning fossil fuels. Smog clouds the sky here, but I'd always imagined that in a place like District Three it would be much worse. Decaying skyscrapers and high-rise apartments line the cracked roads. My father and I live in an old loft, a rarity among the small, crowded apartment buildings everyone else calls home.

I pass the markets as I walk, yet I still see no one. All the shop-keepers and merchants are most likely at home, comforting their children.

Finally, I return home. I grab a book on Biology from my father's large overflowing bookshelf, and begin to read.

In what feel like a few minutes, Dad is shaking my shoulder and telling me its time to head to the village square. I pull my thick, black coat over my shoulders as we head out the door.

We walk together, hardly uttering a word to each other, and only stop when we reach the crowds of children standing in roped off areas. I turn to face my father, and am shocked to see a small tear sliding down his cheek. He's never cried at a reaping before, although he's been to all of them that I know of. "I'll be fine, Dad," I try to assure him, giving him a quick bear hug.

I make my way over to the roped off area that holds the sixteen year olds, and smile and nod to the few I know. I stand patiently, cramped up behind the ropes, as the mayor of District Six and Kyla Marx, our district's escort, wait for silence above us on the makeshift stage.

Then they're saying things, but I'm not really listening. Kyla's chirping voice hurts my ears, and I wish I could slap a gag over her bright orange painted lips. Finally, I have to pay attention.

"The female tribute of District Six is…" she announces as she reaches into the glass bowl and produces a small, white slip of paper, with some unfortunate soul's name printed across it. As she turns it, I somehow catch a glimpse of the letter A, and then I am shaking all over.

Kyla loves suspense, so she keeps the crowd hanging for a few more seconds than necessary. Those few seconds are torture to all of us.

The escort smiles, and flicks back her bright orange hair. "Altaira Izek!"

_What?_

My legs are weak, and there are black spots welling up in my vision. I hear Kyla call my name again, uncertainty creeping into her words, but the sound is distorted. As if my ears are blocked. I feel myself falling, and no one is reaching out to help me.

_This can't be happening._

I black out and hit the pavement.

* * *

When I wake up, all I can think is this: _I am going to die._

Someone offers me their hand, and I take it gratefully. Although I am still feeling dizzy, I manage to stand upright and saunter slowly toward the stage.

When I reach my destination I stand there awkwardly, lights flashing in front of my eyes. I'm not used to camera flashes, and each one temporarily blinds me. I don't know the male tribute, but he looks young. Very young. It's unsettling.

After the reaping, I'm taken into a large, rich room decorated in vast blues and greens. I sit there for what seems like hours.

My cheeks are wet, and it takes me a short while to figure out why. I've been crying, a lot. I quickly wipe my eyes and try to look strong. Fainting when my name was called wouldn't have got me much in the way of bets or sponsors.

Still, I was going to die in the arena. I'd never see my father again after today, so why did anything like that even matter anymore?

"You're father is here to see you," a Peacekeeper stationed by the door tells me in a blatant, plain voice, before he reaches out and pulls on the door handle. My father rushes towards me, his face splotchy and his eyes red. In this moment I realize just how old he is and I frantically start to worry about what will happen to him after I am gone.

He's hugging me now, so I wrap my arm around him and mumble little replies to everything he tells me. We stay like this for a while, until the Peacekeeper by the door tells us we have only a minute left.

After hearing this, Dad cups my chin with his hands and forces me to look him right in the sapphire eyes that we both share. My fathers hands are rough, burnt in places from the strong acids and chemicals he works with on a daily basis. His scratchy fingers scrape across my soft skin as he opens his mouth to speak.

"You have to win, Altaira. You have the wits to survive out there, and you definitely have the bravery." He brushes a lock of my hair out of my eyes that has stubbornly fallen out of my pony tale. "Just lay low, wait for the other tributes to kill each other off. Hide, find food, and find water. I know you can do that," he gives me a look that can only be pride in me, as his daughter, and I can feel tears welling up in my eyes again. I blink them back.

His words are all lies; we both know I can't survive.

"You're time is up, Professor Izek," warns the Peacekeeper. His words are really underlying threats.

I grimace at my father, and give him one last bear hug. "I'll try," I tell him, my voice cracking a little bit at the end.

I wish I was young again as he holds me in his fatherly embrace. I want to once again be a little girl, who has years until she has to worry about the Hunger Games.

Finally, Dad has to go. A Peacekeeper escorts him out, and I look longingly after him. _I'll never see him again, _I think sadly.

"I love you!" I call out to him, just as he is being led out the door.

"I love you too, Ally," he says quietly, his eyes turning misty once more. It's only when he's gone that I realize he'd used the name my mother used to call me. That makes everything worse, somehow, and I hunch over as wracking sobs begin to shake my slight frame.

My mother died when I was eleven, killed in the labs by a freak chemical accident. No one knows what happened, exactly. The last time I saw her was that morning when she walked me to school and then headed off on her own to the labs where she was employed. We never even got to bury or cremate her body. There wasn't even a funeral.

For the first time, I wonder if my mother was _truly_ killed in a lab accident.

Unsurprisingly, I do not have any more visitors. I'm not a popular girl at school, and no one would really consider themselves any more than my acquaintance.

"It's time for departure, Miss Izek," says a different Peacekeeper, this time stationed at the door behind where I sit, gesturing for me to follow her outside so we can meet the male tribute, Kyla Marx and our mentors at the district's train station.

I follow the Peacekeeper's feet as we walk, hastily wiping away my tears and willing my eyes to not appear red and blotchy. Cameramen and women follow us as we make our way to the platform, and all I want is to be back in my father's untidy kitchen, waiting for him to serve Groosling and looking through his new brews and bottles.

I only look up when we reach the platform, which I regret because I am instantly disoriented by the flashing white lights of the cameras. I dizzily board the train and sit down where the Peacekeeper instructs me to sit.

All the while, the same morbid thought echoes through the vast caverns of my mind. _I am going to die._

I am greeted by Kyla Marx, who's many facial piercings sparkle lazily in the bright light of the Capitol train. She introduces me to my district partner- which is really a cruel joke, since I may have to kill him- who is named Apodemus. I vaguely recognise his name to be the first part of the scientific name of the wood mouse.

Apodemus would only be thirteen. He obviously hasn't reached puberty yet, and he stands to about the height of my shoulders. With his beady brown eyes, pointy nose and big ears, I can certainly say he resembles a rodent. His parents must have chosen the name for that reason.

I pity Apodemus. He has even less chance of survival than I do. Not to mention he was named after a mouse.

Lastly, I am introduced to our mentors. I recognise them, of course. How could I not? I'd been forced to watch the Hunger Games my whole life.

The male is named Panthera. He is well over six foot with black hair cut bluntly at his shoulders and coarse, shortly trimmed stubble that covers his strong jawline. His eyes were every bit as beady and brown as Apodemus'. Panthera won the games when he was eighteen, which was about twenty years ago, he tells us. This makes him almost fourty. I remember him from the occasional television recap of past Hunger Games. He had been a vicious child, even back then. Panthera sided with the Careers on the first day of the Games, only to wait until his watch that night and murder them all in their sleep.

I don't trust him.

The female mentor, however, I can remember more clearly. She asks us to call her Dan, but tells us her name is really Danaus. She's short and slight, and only a few years older than me. Dan resembles me too; the same eyes, the same hair, but she's cropped hers into a short, funky bob cut to show off the tattoo of a Monarch Butterfly on the back of her neck. She'd be about nineteen now, and she won the Games when she was only fourteen. I can remember watching her pick off tributes one by one with her remarkable archery aim, never really leaving her perch on the branch of a pine tree.

I don't trust her either.

In fact, I don't think I trust anyone other than my father. I catch myself glaring at Apodemus multiple times without really noticing what I'm doing as Kyla, Panthera and Dan explain to us where our chambers are. They tell us everything in those rooms is ours and ours alone. We can do whatever we want.

But that isn't true. We can't do whatever we want. I want to run away from here, take off and launch myself right into my makeshift bed at home and hide forever under the blankets. But can I really do that? The answer is simple. No.

The first thing I do is shower. We have a shower at home, but it's never really worked properly. The water cuts on and off, and sometimes it doesn't work again until days later. Usually, I just settle for a bath. This shower is different though, so I savour the warmth and stay there, staring blankly at the tiled wall in front of me as long as I dare.

After I'm sure there is not one bit of grime left on my body, I dry myself with a fluffy white towel I find hanging on a golden rail. I don't know what else to do, so I sit on the edge of the bath that is also present in my luxury bathroom, with the fluffy, warm fabric wrapped around my scrubbed body.

_What I would kill to live like this! _I think. But then, I am suddenly horrified. Because that's exactly what I will have to do. If I want to live, I will have to kill. If I murder other tributes, then I can live like this for the rest of my life.

I shudder back that repulsive thought, deciding that sitting around doing nothing will only make me think more about things I don't particularly want to acknowledge.

I brush my hair, loving the way the fine bristles rub against my scalp. It's therapeutic, and I brush it a bit more than is really needed. I don't bother to put it up. Then I dress myself in a pair of baggy, loose fitting grey pants and a white tee-shirt, I look for some shoes and am happily surprised to find a pair of soft, warm boots that cannot really be boots, they are too comfortable_. Slippers? _I wonder.

The last thing I do before head out to supper is fold up my blue reaping dress and my heavy, black coat. I make sure to place my mothers blue hair ribbon away carefully in the pocket of my coat. As I am doing so, a cold, hard, metal-like object bumps my hand. My fingers wrap around the object and curiosity leaks sneakily across my normally indifferent features.

I am holding my fathers wristwatch. I recognise the intricate pattern of the constellation Aquila along the thick, silver wristband. The constellation Aquila, my fathers favourite. He's never told me that, but I'm sure I am right. After all, I was named after its brightest star.

_But how did it get in my pocket? _I question, although I already know the answer. My father is a very smart man, and obviously the watch holds some sort of importance to him. He must have slipped it into my pocket during our final goodbye. A tear trickles down my cheek at the memory, and I quickly brush it away, blinking rapidly. No weakness.

So, my father has given me his wristwatch as my district token. I slide it onto my own wrist without having to unlatch it. It's loose, but it won't come off. Unless of course I'm too rough with it.

Smiling sadly, I watch the little blue hands move slowly around the face of the clock. Time is ticking away.

* * *

I live for reviews! Please tell me what you thought of it! Next chapter is a biggie. Big big big shock value!

There is romance to come. This is truly, one hundred percent a love story. But I had to start somewhere. What did you think of Altaira? Who was your favourite character so far? Tell me all these things in your review! Also, lets see if you can guess what really happened to Altaira's mother!

Till next time (chapter),

-what the face


	2. Chapter Two

Starbright Victor

Altaira Izek

Chapter Two: Cut

* * *

Dinner is uneventful. Apodemus doesn't talk, and neither do I. Most of the conversation is just harmless banter between the adults. I eat so much of the rich, Capitol food that afterwards I am feeling slightly sick. Can't say I care though. It tasted amazing.

Following dinner, we gather in the small sitting room at the back of the train and watch the reapings on a large, flat-screen television. Although I know I should be sizing up my competition, I find that I can't even watch. I don't want to look at people that might kill me, or the people that _I _may kill myself. The only reaping I can bring myself to observe is my own. I watch as my name is called, the ripple of the crowd as they turn to try and get a look at me. I hear the uncertainty in Kyla's voice when I don't immediately join her on the stage. I watch as I slowly turn greenish in colour and fall over. It's strange to see yourself faint, I have to admit. I feel sicker watching it happen than I did at the time. I watch as people caress my cheek, kick my shoe, and click their fingers in front of my face, plus all other sorts of things to try and wake me up. The commentators jeer a bit at the expression on my face. They say it resembles one of a sleeping, grumpy bear, before they cruelly flash a rather ugly cartoon of one onscreen. Finally, I slowly stand up with the aid of a girl in my Chemistry class and make my way toward Kyla and the mayor.

I have never been more embarrassed in my life.

Apodemus seems to handle things better than I did, which the commentators have fun talking about. They even remark on his resemblance to a wood mouse.

"This district is an animal house!" they say at one point, earning the unruly, cackling laugh of the live studio audience.

* * *

"Oh, dear Lord!" shouts a blue haired, pink eyed member of my prep team. "Look at her cuticles!"

The rest of the prep team gather around her, dropping their various 'beauty tools' and gasping in shock as they frantically grab at my hand. "The horror!" says Gucci, a man with a bright pink mohawk. I find his remark hilarious somehow, and I am soon gripping my sides as they shake with roaring guffaws.

Silence.

I stop laughing at once.

"We are quite serious, Miss Izek," says Lucia stonily. I can see that I have offended them, but I don't really feel bad about it. I've seen horrors far worse than the likes of my battered cuticles.

"I'm sorry, Lucia," I sigh, letting them continue with their constant waxing, toning, moisturising and beautifying. "We work with chemicals where I come from, so most of our cuticles are in bad shape," I explain apologetically.

"Oh!" exclaims the blue haired woman with scary, bright pink eyes whose named I cannot recall. "Like Acetone?"

I blink. _What the…? How did she know? _I expected them to ask what chemicals were, not name one! _Oh, right. Nail polish remover._

"Yeah, like Acetone," I reply.

I've been here for well over three hours now, and I'm glad that my time here is drawing to a close. I'm being prepped for the Chariot Parade, the ride to the City Circle.

"All do-one!" sings Gucci in his annoying Capitol accent, ripping off the final waxing strip from between my eyebrows around ten minutes later. I wince and stifle a yelp. "Oh, Gloria! She's all yours!"

My stylist, an old grouchy woman named Gloria with tattooed on eyebrows and eyeliner, and who is adjourned in so much plastic surgery that she hardly seems human anymore, enters the room in a very dramatic way. She flings open the white double doors of the compartment, and then smiles creepily with a flick of her long, artificial purple locks. One door almost hits Lucia in the head; she pushes them with so much force. Then, again rather dramatically, Gloria takes a long drag from something I remember to be called a cigarette.

"Come on in, darling," she purrs. I follow her, unease settling deep in my gut. She shuts the doors dramatically once more following our exit.

Gloria motions for me to stand on the petite, burgundy stool before her, and I do so immediately because, frankly, I'm a little bit afraid of her. She surveys me from the top of my hairline to the tip of my toes. "Rather nice, yes, yes, could be improved… we'll get on that," she grumbles, not to me, but to herself.

"Brigita?" she calls, not bothering to pop back into the next room.

"Yes, Gloria?" the woman with the pink eyes darts quickly into the compartment, eager to serve her boss.

"Bring me the glitter," Gloria says dangerously.

_Oh no, _I gulp.

Gloria has been a stylist for the Hunger Games for decades, and she's never really brought many new ideas to the field. Most years her costumes are nothing but the bare minimal… and it seems like things are going to be the same this year.

"Glitter?" I squeak.

"Yes," she snaps, and I flinch at her hostility. I find her a great deal scarier than even the Peacekeepers back home, so I decide to shut up and take whatever I'm handed at this point.

Brigita returns with a large glass bowl filled with glitter. This isn't ordinary glitter though, it's pulverised diamonds. "Thankyou, darling," Gloria crows, staring after Brigita as she leaves with hawk like eyes.

"Um, Gloria?"

"What?" she barks, angrily stubbing her cigarette out in a gem-encrusted ashtray.

"You are aware that I'm from District Six… aren't you?" I ask, hesitantly. I ask this because District One produce diamonds and my district conduct scientific research. _What could diamonds possibly have to do with…_

"District Six? Of course I am aware, darling!" she turns on me, her bright purple lips set in a frustrated pout at my apparent 'stupidity.'

"Oh. Alright, then," I say, backing down. Gloria begins to assemble her materials and other unimportant things, and soon she is ready to begin. She points me toward an enclosed changing area off to the side of the compartment and thrusts a silver bra and a pair of briefs into my arms. I gape at her, silently pleading for mercy, but she just hones in on me with her hawk eyes and I know I'm a goner if I persist.

I change into the undergarments, and then once again take up my position on the burgundy stool. Gloria calls for my prep team who assemble themselves around my almost naked body and begin to lather a glue-like substance onto my newly waxed skin.

I'd usually be extremely self-conscious in a position like this, but my prep team has seen almost _every_ inch of me this morning. Still, I volunteer to apply the glue to places I'd rather no one else touched… if you get my meaning.

After I am almost fully covered in glue, Brigita, Gucci and Lucia begin to sprinkle the pulverised diamonds all over my body. It's not a comfortable experience and the shards of the diamonds scratch against my flesh when I move.

When I tell the prep team it hurts, they tell me that it's: "All's love and war in the name of beauty!"

I find this strange… beyond words, but I don't say anything as I don't want to offend them again and have them prick me with the diamond shards more than they already are.

Gloria begins to attend to my hair. For the first time, she actually has something nice to say. "Lustrous," she remarks as she yanks a brush through it. Gucci brings in a thin, flat iron-type contraption and hands it to my stylist. Gloria then uses that instead of the hairbrush to straighten my naturally wavy locks. I presume heat is used in the process, because I can see steam rising from the small machine and filling the air around us. My hair appears to be longer now that it is straight; it reaches my belly button now.

"Oh, Miss Izek!" fawns Brigita in her whiny accent. "The crowd will love you!"

But I don't want the crowd to love me. I just want to be home with my father, reading facts and developing hypotheses' together.

Of course, here is my hypothesis on my outfit: I look like a skank.

I'm smirking at my wit when I realize they're looking at me like I've grown antlers or something equally as stupid. "Are you alright, Miss?" asks Lucia cautiously.

"I'm fine," I mutter, turning to face Gloria, humour lighting up my features. "What's next?"

* * *

I stand away from the other tributes, not wanting to draw attention towards myself. I'm quite sure I've figured out who the Careers are. They're not hard to spot with their revealing costumes and toned bodies. I subconsciously glance at what I'm wearing, then grumble silently. I'm practically naked!

_Guess I can't really say _their _costumes are revealing, _I think bitterly as I take in their slightly less provocative clothes.

"A test tube, maybe?"

I jump and squeal, my diamond encrusted funnel-like headdress slipping and sliding down to rest on the bridge of my nose. I quickly place it back into it's rightful position on the crown on my head and whirl around to face who ever had startled me.

Well, he certainly wasn't who I expected. I'd expected someone I knew, either Apodemus or Panthera, but this boy… this boy I'd never met before in my life.

"I don't exactly know," I admit, truthfully. I'd stood in front of the mirror staring at myself for _ages _trying to figure out what I was meant to be. I probably should have asked Gloria, but what did it really matter anyway?

The boy's eyes are gliding down my figure now, and I feel a blush creeping across my cheekbones. "See something you like?" I snap before I can control my annoyance at where his eyes lingered just seconds ago. They're trained on mine now, though, and I notice that they're a deep, forest green. He's quite attractive, really, with his tanned skin, tall build and muscular shape. His hair is a dark, almost black brown and I find myself wondering what it would feel like if I ran my fingers through it. But that thought quickly disappears, because I'm not here to check out my enemies. I'm here to kill them, thanks to the Capitol.

"Maybe," he says, but not flirtatiously at all. The boy speaks with brutal honesty, something I usually admire in a person. "What's your name?"

I'm taken aback by his zest. He does not appear to be at all fazed by the fact that we're about to be paraded around the Capitol like new, shiny toys, then a few days later be thrown into an arena to die gruesome and bloody deaths.

_Maybe he's just good at hiding his emotions, _I think.

I shouldn't be talking to this tribute, at all. I should be walking away right now, ignoring him blatantly and focusing on not looking weak or innocent. However, the idea of a conversation with this boy intrigues me and I find myself all too ready to reply.

"Altaira Athena Izek," I state confidently.

To my amazement, he chuckles. "I don't need your life story," he guffaws. I am, at first, quite offended, but then I realize he's joking. "Ally it is."

"Don't call me Ally," I say, so quickly that the words sound as if they are blurred together.

The boy looks confused, and his eyebrows raise in a comical expression. He looks as if he's trying to find something witty to say, but he's too lost for words at that moment. "Huh?" he settles for, lamely.

"I said don't call me Ally," I say through grit teeth.

This confuses him even more. "Okay… Altaira then." He smirks, and my blood begins to boil. _Who is this boy? What does he want? Why did I even bother to talk with him?_

"Miss Izek!" I hear Kyla call, from some distance away. Thankful for this interruption, I turn quickly on my heels and stomp off, leaving the boy looking lost but somehow amused.

I look up into Kyla's purple coloured contacts and say, quite charmingly if I do say so myself, "What?"

The escort is, of course, very taken aback at my sudden hostility. "Just… time to get into… the, uh, the… chariot."

I blink. "Oh… sorry, then, Kyla. I can do that."

And I do, I heave myself up onto the vehicle and sit beside Apodemus, who might I add, was looking utterly ridiculous in a giant, plastic beaker with holes only for his arms and legs and a grim expression on his rodent-like face. I resist the urge to fall to the ground and laugh at the poor kid.

My mood swings are quite strange today.

We're being led out now, grey spotted horses pulling us along. The crowd don't go particularly wild for us, but I find that, once more, I do not give a damn. They always cheer the loudest for the Career districts anyway.

We're about half-way to the City Circle when Apodemus catches me eyeing his costume with pity. "At least I'm not half naked," he states plainly, in a quiet, nervous voice. This is the first time I've heard him speak, and I chuckle quietly.

"True."

* * *

I have a nightmare that night.

It starts off innocent enough, my Dad and I are sitting on the couch, watching a recap of the Dark Days on our battered, old, black and white television.

I make a sarcastic remark at something President Snow says, and turn to face my father. My father looks like he's about to agree, but then suddenly his face morphs into President Snow's, who smiles evilly as the smell of blood fills the room. Then the President is gone, replaced by the boy I met this afternoon with the bright, forest green eyes. By this point I'm getting scared, and I try to scream when thick, red, dripping blood begins to pool from his eyes and lips. I'm still trying to scream when I look down and see my own hands covered in his blood, in my right I hold a knife, and in my left I hold his cut out eyeballs.

I wake up with a start, strands of my hair sticking to my sweating face. I try not to scream, this takes a few minutes of frantic chanting _"Don't scream, don't scream, don't scream." _When I've accomplished that large feat, I look around my new room in the Training Centre, which is, by the way, much larger than my compartment on the train, assuring myself that I am alone and save, for the time being. Then I try to breathe in and out slowly, but it's just too hard. I'm worrying about hyperventilating when I hear the sound of a laundry trolley rolling across the corridor outside my room.

_Must be an Avox coming to collect dirty laundry, _I think while still trying to control my rapid intakes and outtakes of breath. I find myself just wanting to be in the presence of another. I want to talk to someone, even if they can't necessarily talk back.

I'm off my feet and heading for the door before I can tell myself that I'm just being silly and that I don't need to be comforted.

The door does not creak when I slide it open. I'm not used to that, I'm used to the familiar creak of my bedroom door back home. I see an Avox woman not far up the hallway, collecting Apodemus' dirty garments and placing them neatly in the trolley.

"Hello?" I whisper, uncertainly. She jumps and turns, her hand on her heart, as if I've startled her.

I'd been walking, but now I stop dead in my tracks. I cannot move an inch. I feel my rapid breathing speeding up.

I take in her golden locks, wavy and temperamental in a way I can completely sympathise over. Her small nose, her ivory skin, and her slight bone structure. The little spray of golden freckles across her cheeks.

My heart catches in my chest as we survey one another, our eyes darting over every centimetre of the others frame. I can't get enough. My eyes drink in everything, every feature, my fingers curl at my sides remembering the way she'd held me in our caring embraces so many years ago.

"Ally," she mouths, but the sound never comes. It never will. The Capitol cut away her tongue, just like they are about to cut away my life.

"Mum," I whisper, and am ready to break into a run to reach her loving arms when she turns away from me and begins to once more push the laundry trolley down the corridor, her hands frequently wiping away her tears as she goes.

* * *

Sorry, cliffhanger D:

I know how much most people despise them! I love writing them though. They're the bomb, heheh :3

Review and rate!

And yes, the boy with forest green eyes is indeed important! ;)


	3. Chapter Three

Starbright Victor

Altaira Izek

Chapter Three: Laugher is the best medicine? Not in this case.

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Thankyou so much for reviews! :) Commence reading!

* * *

My insides shatter. After everything that's happened, how could she just walk away from me? After these last four years I've spent mourning her death?

"Wait!" I yell out to her, anguish filling my voice. I'm crying, again. I'm always crying nowadays. My voice shakes when I speak, sobs echoing around the corridor. I don't care if someone wakes up, I don't care if I'm arrested for speaking to an Avox.

All I care about is the possibility that my mother could hold me in her arms once more and tell me that everything is going to be okay.

Sure, I know _nothing_ is going to be _okay. _I'm sentenced to die, practically. But her face... it makes me forget all of this, at least for a little while. I'm a young girl again, and I've done something as silly as taking the last cookie from the jar without asking. Although, not exactly that, because I've never had the privilege of eating a cookie in my life.

"Why?" I shout, my words hoarse and cracked from the sheer shock of this night. My question refers to everything, really. Why does the Capitol have to be so cruel, as to rip a young girl away from a widowed father and throw her into an arena with murderous, malicious Career tributes, or in other words, to certain death? Why must they take away the girls mother many years before this and cut her tongue from her throat, telling the girl and her broken father that she is dead? Why must they take away everything I love, and then shove it painfully back at me?

My mother turns, slowly, to face me. Tears are falling from her warm, motherly brown eyes more freely than they trickle from my sapphire ones. She's mute, so she just shakes her head, her golden hair, so much like my own, moves with the action, and starts to walk away again.

I can't contain my anger towards her. "They told me you were dead!" I scream, risking not only my life but also hers. "We never even got to have a funeral!"

She keeps walking, shaking her head as she goes, like she believes that if she shakes off my truths then she won't hear them. She does hear, though, and I know it upsets her. So I keep going, following her as I speak.

"I cried all night. Dad was more angry than upset though, he punched one of the Peacekeepers in the square when they wouldn't tell him what happened. He was given ten lashes for that," I say, my voice trembling.

I remember that day. I'd risen for school, my cheeks stained with tears from the previous night and the horrifying news it brought with it. My father had offered to walk me to school that morning and we'd passed by some officers. He'd been reasonable, at first, but then his anger had taken the better of him, and he couldn't control himself.

I'd then watched as he was whipped, alone and frightened, longing for someone to comfort me. But of course, the only person I'd ever loved, apart from my father that is, wasn't there. I'd believed she was gone forever.

Until now.

When I cease remembering what I know as one of the worst days of my very short life, I look up to see no trace of my mother, and the tears begin to fall even more rapidly.

Not for the first time, I find myself stricken with grief and all alone.

The nightmare comes back to me then, and I try to control my breathing, the sobbing makes it much more challenging than it was before though. Defeated, I cross the hallway to the wall and slowly slide down it on my back so that I'm now sitting on the floor. I wrap my trembling arms around my knobbly knees and give up any sense of hope I had left.

* * *

The next morning we discuss training. Kyla tells us we'll be separated and that we don't really have any choice in the matter. I'm withdrawn as I eat, savouring the rich food, quieter even than young Apodemus who devours double of what I gulp down. Then Panthera and Dan come to collect us and we head off to separate rooms to start preparing ourselves for the arena.

Luckily, Dan chooses to mentor me especially, which I am glad about. I, once more, pity Apodemus. I also hope Panthera doesn't get so frustrated with the young boy that he offs him. It's not a nice thought, but looking at the fourty year old bear-like mentor, I don't brand this scenario as impossible.

"Okay!" exclaims Dan when we reach our own private training room. She speaks a little too enthusiastically for my liking, as I'm still shaken up over last night. "Show me your skills."

There are a wide variety of weapons laid out on the soft, spongy ground of the training gym before us. I blink rapidly a few times before realizing what she wants me to do. Then I walk towards the first weapon I lay my eyes on, because, really what harm is there in having a go?

It's a knife. A beautiful knife, I admit grudgingly, though I'm bewildered as to how an object used to cause harm can be so charming to look at. The glistening, silver blade is long and sharpened, and the small but sturdy hilt is made of solid gold carved with intricate, ancient patterns. _Beautiful, _I think again.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Throw it," says Dan, giving me a grin that she probably assumes looks encouraging. To me, it looks taunting, so I turn away from her without returning her smile, still turning the appealing weapon around and around in my hands.

Targets are lined in a perfect row about thirty metres away from where I stand. I grip the knife comfortably in my right hand, pull my arm back and prepare to... freeze. I've realized what I'm really being prepared for here.

_I'm training for murder._

The realization hits me cold and hard in the stomach. I let my arm fall to my side, still holding the knife tight in my grasp. Dan is standing to my left, observing my throwing stance with her critical gaze. "Don't know what to do next?" she asks.

"No," I say, blatantly. She moves towards me, perhaps to show me my next step, but I turn my stare on her and she stops in her tracks like a startled deer in headlights. "Did you ever feel guilty?" I wonder.

Dan - confident, enthusiastic, _mentor_ Danaus - looks down at her feet. This is strange of her, and I wonder for a moment there whether I've judged her too quickly. But then the gesture, and all my doubts along with it is forgotten within seconds when she's smiling right at me again. "Guilty of what?" she asks right back, playing ignorant.

_Unbelievable. _"Nothing," I mutter. Because that one second of hesitation is all the proof I need. No human could _not_ feel guilty, killing as many as she had. And Dan _is, _as much as I hate to admit it, human.

Just like me.

"Alrighty," she says, grabbing my hand and then demonstrating the proper way to hold a knife. I copy her, finding it to be quite simple. After all, I'm a very quick learner. Soon enough, I'm throwing knives and hitting the target, although not managing the bullseye just yet.

After an hour of this, we move onto the next weapon, which is a spear. I have more trouble with this weapon, simply because I'm far too weak to hold it upright without standing in an awkward position that affects my throw. After ten minutes of frustration, Dan decides that the spear and I will never get along, and suggests that we move on once again.

The third weapon is a bow. I'm sure that if I can manage something basic, this particular weapon will come in handy. I can identify plants and animals better than anyone in my Biology class back home, and I'm certain I can find natural poisons in the arena and use them to my advantage. If I could dip an arrow into one, then shoot it at another tribute from high up in a tree, and then maybe, just maybe, my chance at survival could lift a little.

Dan demonstrates first, and I have to admire her. Archery is most definitely her field, and she is fatal when armed with a bow and a quiver full of deadly, sharp arrow. After five minutes of watching her shoot bullseye after bullseye in sheer awe, she hands the metal contraption to me.

I analyse it before anything, as I've always been taught. I get a simple idea of how the thing works, and then have a try for myself. "Not bad," Dan remarks, throwing me a pleased look when I've shot my tenth arrow, this time catching the bottom of the cardboard target. "I have a feeling we should stick with knives and archery, for now."

And we do. Three hours later, I'm feeling better about myself. I can both throw a knife into the bullseye, and shoot an arrow in the general direction I aim for. "Beginners luck," Dan had smirked at one point during the training session. She and I both know that isn't true though, District Six children are incredibly intelligent, and we can learn new skills quickly in the same way a Career can successfully impale a tribute with a sword.

Panthera emerges from the training room next to us with an annoyed expression on his face, and Apodemus soon follows him looking terrified. Seems like the little guy didn't have quite as much success as I did.

Later, I end up wasting time in my room pointlessly watching the ticking hands of my father's wristwatch circle around the face of the clock until Kyla calls me for dinner. Dinner is, as always, a fairly silent affair. Dan praises my work today at training, and Panthera looks utterly jealous. Apodemus appears ashamed, and Kyla just seems bored.

_Today went too fast, _I think as I lie in bed at night and wait for the nightmares to come and claim me once more.

* * *

When Kyla knocks on my door the next morning, I jolt upright, my eyes already wide open. I'd hardly slept the night before, haunted by memories of my father's lashings and other painful memories that until I'm asleep I can keep safely locked up in the back of my mind.

"Rise and shine, Miss Izek!" she shouts cheerfully, her voice tinny through the thin barrier of my metal sliding door. "Group training begins in ten minutes!"

_Ten minutes! _I groan. "Why didn't you wake me earlier?"

"I tried, dear, but you didn't hear me!"

_Huh, _I think, _guess__ I slept a little more than I thought._

"All right, I'll be out in a minute," I mumble, as I climb out of bed and quickly dress myself in the outfit that was laid out of my dresser the night before. A red tank top and navy blue athletics pants. I then pull a brush through my hair and tie it up.

Glancing in the mirror, I realize I probably should have showered.

_I would have, _I think gruffly, _if I'd heard Kyla earlier._

I meet up with Kyla and Apodemus by our floor's elevator shaft. We wait in an awkward silence while the elevator shoots upwards at the command of a button Kyla had impatiently pushed multiple times shortly after my arrival. When it arrives, we clamber inside and again wait awkwardly as it shoots down towards the ground floor of the Training Centre. The blasé elevator music just makes it worse.

Finally, the double doors slide open and we turn to face the already assembled escorts and tributes. Turns out we're the last to arrive. I feel a blush creeping across my cheeks as we shuffle to take our places between the teams of District Five and Seven.

The head trainer stands before us, her hair grey and smile grim. As our district numbers are pinned to each of our backs, she explains to us the rules of group training, warns us that there are to be no fights between tributes and tells us that an expert on each skill will be assembled at each station. My eyes immediately dart to the edible plants station, shining with something like anticipation.

When we are allowed to move off on our own, I make my way there. I greet the trainer, listen to him talk for a while, and then begin to examine the large range of plants he has put on display.

For a long time, I'm the only tribute here. Unfortunately, it doesn't remain that way.

"Nightlock."

Annoyed, I glance upwards, dropping the fatal berries I hold in my hands. The boy with the forest green eyes is staring down at me, a smirk etched on his handsome face.

"If you're going to persist in stalking me, then at least tell me your name," I say smarmily, much to his amusement.

"Oran," he replies, squatting down beside me and picking up the plant I was about to identify next, which aggravates me even more.

"What?" I say, snatching the root from his clutches and beginning to observe it like I'd originally planned.

"My name's Oran," he laughs.

I purse my lips and glare at him. "Be serious."

The boy looks at me, incredulous. "I am! That's my name. It means Green in ancient Irish," he points at his dark green eyes. "My parents are artists," he says as if this explains everything.

I'm embarrassed, blushing once more. "Right. Sorry."

Oran just flashes me a dazzling smile that I'm sure would make half of the girls back home faint. I feel a bit dizzy myself, but I'm quickly snapping myself out of it. I'm most definitely not going to faint _twice _this week. Once was _more_ than enough.

"It's okay. You just want to impress me, after all."

I snort, much to my never-ending embarrassment. "You know, I don't know anything about you except for your name, but I'm already beginning to think you're arrogant."

"You think right," he grins, running his hand through his tousled hair.

I turn back to observing my root and am just about sure I've indentified it when he suddenly laughs and the name completely slips from my mind.

"What now?" I snap, irritated.

Oran's pointing towards the girl from District One who's somehow managed to walk right into a snare set up by the male tribute from District Nine, and is now dangling in a net hanging from the roof, screaming and cursing as the grey haired woman who greeted us barks at her to stop being so silly.

I can't help myself. She looks so utterly stupid hanging there, her perfectly made up face contorted with rage and disbelief. I'm laughing too now, more than Oran is.

Then the strangest thing happens.

Slowly, one by one, tributes stop and look at the girl. And then they start laughing too. They're all smiling and laughing, dropping their weapons and ignoring the cries from the trainers to "settle down, settle down!"

The last to laugh is the girl in the net, and when she does, everything just seems so much _more _hilarious. Soon I'm laughing at the way the Peacekeepers storm in, the way they walk, the look on Oran's face and even the way tears are falling freely from my eyes as I clutch at my sides and guffaw.

Then the laughter dies down and everyone's left looking terrified.

"Can't control them can you?" shouts a Peacekeeper, directly at the grey haired head-trainer. His words ring throughout the room, so loud that the young, twelve year old female tribute from District Twelve actually cowers into the corner nearest to her.

The head trainer opens her cracked lips to speak. "I-I, uh-"

But it's too late, they've marched her out of the room, handcuffs locked over her wrists.

I wonder if she'll soon become acquainted with my mother.

* * *

Okay, please, if you've read this, review!

I LOVE REVIEWS :D


	4. Chapter Four

Starbright Victor

Altaira Izek

Chapter Four: Allies and Angles

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Hey guys! Sorry it's taken me so long to post this chapter! I had _the_ hardest time writing it, and I'm sorry to say it's not long at all. There's a reason for this though, and that's because in Chapter Five I'll be switching to Oran's point of view. This fic will almost entirely be Altaira's POV though. I find it alot easier to write from a girls perspective. I guess it's because I am one.

Anyway, please keep up the reviews! I operate under this rule: if I read it, I review it.

On with the story.

* * *

Something begins to change. Not straight away, but gradually I begin to enjoy being in Oran's company. Of course, he continues to follow me around and tease me for the entire three days of group training, but by the last day I'm not nearly so annoyed by it. In fact, I start to find his continual sarcastic comments and jokes rather amusing. I don't dare laugh though, not after what happened on the first day. I just smile. He tells me things about his home, District Eleven, and his family. Oran has two younger sisters, named Indigo and Azura. "Purple and Sky Blue," he translates for me. I can tell that Oran loves them more than anything by the way his eyes light up when he tells me about the picture they painted for him. He holds it out to me on the second day, and I can't help but grin. A tall, black stick figure with arms longer than it's legs stands with a poorly painted, golden crown on it's head. The victor's crown. The stick figure is him; he even shows me his name printed next to the crown in messy, unreadable writing, "oRan."

Don't get me wrong, Oran and I trained just as hard as any other tribute throughout those three days, but it certainly seemed we were having the most fun doing it. By the third day I'd managed to hit the bullseye with a bow and arrow not once, but four times. I'd become quite confident with an axe, and I could set master traps. There were still things I was not confident with, though, like hand-to-hand combat, where the only tribute I even stood a chance against was Apodemus.

I'd come to recognise most of the tributes I would be competing against in a matter of days. There was the self-obsessed Glow, from District One, who had cut her standard red tank top just below her breasts to show off her perfectly curvy, hourglass figure. Then there was Hook, the large, terrifying, seventeen year old boy from District Four. He had impaled over a hundred practice dummies with his trident in those short three days of training. There was also Bell, a slight twelve year old girl from District Twelve, who I believed could never successfully hurt a fly.

"Ever thought about having me as an ally, Altaira?" wonders Oran, snapping me out of my reverie. There's ten minutes left of group training. After that, I don't know when I'll see Oran again. I shouldn't really care, I suppose, considering he could very well be the one who kills me.

I'm readying myself to throw my axe into the practise dummy when I really register what he's asked me. _Ever thought about having me as an ally, Altaira? _He'd said.

Had I? No. I hadn't thought about the possibility of an ally at all. Would being part of a team bring up my chances of survival? Or lower them? More importantly, would having an ally make it harder for me to become the animalistic murderer that most tributes succumbed to becoming? And could I really trust Oran enough that I would sleep while he stood guard? How did I know he wouldn't pull a Panthera and kill me when I was most vulnerable?

"Not until now," I say softly, lowering my throwing arm. Oran stands to my side, his crossbow also lowered and his forest-coloured eyes staring intensely into mine.

"Why not?" he smirks, ruining the effect his intense stare had on me. Which was, by the way, quite incriminating.

"I don't know," I say angrily. But I do, deep down, and Oran knows that too. He's starting to get on my nerves again. _Always asking questions!_

"Yes…" he grins, "You do."

_Ugh. _"Maybe it's because I don't like to attach myself to people…" I pause, thinking. "And I don't like bullshit."

Oran actually laughs, causing everyone in the room to give him a worried glance. No one wants a repeat of the net incident. "You don't like bullshit," he repeats in a bad impersonation of my voice, much too whiny and high-pitched in my opinion.

"Yes," I say, raising my arm again and throwing the axe at the dummy with more power than usual. Oran, at first, continues to look at me with an incredulous look on his face, but then follows suit and begins shooting with his crossbow once more.

When training is over, we are told that our private sessions with the Gamemakers will be tomorrow. Oran and I shake hands. He smirks, which I have begun to believe is his trademark, and I give him a grimace. Who knows what will happen to him? He could very well win these Games.

I find I cannot eat at dinner that night. A sick, nervous feeling overcomes me and Kyla suggests that I head off to bed. I do as she says and find that I fall asleep immediately, nightmares of the Hunger Games and my mother ready and waiting.

The next day, during lunch, tributes are called one by one to their private sessions. The tributes do not return once they have been called. I wonder if they're just allowed to go back to their rooms.

_I_ want to go back my room. I still can't shake the nausea in my gut. I hope it's just nerves.

I see Oran a few times that morning, but we don't talk. I watch silently as he talks to his district partner, an exotic looking girl with long, flowing black hair and big, innocent looking brown eyes. They look about the same age, around seventeen. The way she looks at him makes me think she loves him.

_Well, he really_ is_ quite charming._

When Apodemus has been called, I really begin to feel alone. Not like he was much company, as he never talks, but at least he was there.

I'm not the only one sitting alone, eating my lunch. Almost everybody looks lost. The Career's have gone now, already shown the Gamemakers their unbelievable strength, aim, and sheer brutality. Without their loud garbling and hearty laughter the air feels stiff and tense. More even than usual.

Finally, I am called. I try to keep my head high as I descend down the hallway and enter the training gym. The Gamemakers look down on me, their faces neutral. I feel butterflies deep in my stomach.

Still trying to retain a confident air, I first walk towards the knife-throwing station. I grab a handful of the small, silver handled blades and ready myself to throw them into the dummies set out before me. I strike the first one in the head, the second in the heart and the third in the leg.

I miss the fourth completely. Embarrassed, I swap my knives for a metal bow and a quiver of arrows and begin to shoot. I hit eight out of the twelve dummies I aim at, although my arrows would not always result in fatalities if the dummies were real. Lastly, I throw a few axes into some targets, and then I am dismissed.

That night, Kyla, Panthera, Dan, Apodemus and I gather around the flat-screen television on our level of the Training Centre. We watch as each tribute's training score is given. Glow, the girl from District One, manages a nine, while Bell from District Twelve only scores a two. Hook scores a twelve, which the crowd goes wild for. Apodemus cowers on the chair next to mine. He scores only a three. Somehow, I manage to pull a seven. Dan claps me heartily on the back, Kyla squeals and Apodemus gives me a weak, watery smile. Panthera just glares at the television screen.

Oran scores a ten.

I'm not surprised, really. Oran's skills with a crossbow are excellent, and his hand-to-hand combat fails only against Hook. He can survive out in the wilderness; I know that for a fact. That really is the strong point for District Eleven tributes.

"So," says Dan, breaking the silence that had enveloped the room. "Tomorrow night is interview night."

I can't help but groan. I've lost my silent, polite air in the past week.

Kyla reaches for her sherry on the glass coffee table in front of her. "We need to think about angles," she chirps before taking a dainty sip.

"Angles?" squeaks Apodemus.

"Yes, angles," snaps Kyla, placing her glass down on the table once more. She then claps her hands together, turning on me with gleaming, excited, unnaturally bright blue eyes. "Let's begin with you, Altaira."

I shift uncomfortably as the attention of the room is shifted onto me. Everyone seems a little lost as they ponder how I should act.

_Who I will become, _I shudder.

"Spunky," Panthera supplies, finally, after what seems like hours of silence.

I turn to gape at him. _Since when was I- _me_- Altaira Athena Izek… _spunky_? _

"Perfect!" exclaims Kyla, actually knocking over her sherry. As she rushes to alert a nearby Avox, which I thankfully note is not my mother; I whirl around to face Panthera.

"Spunky?" I cry. "How the heck do you expect me to act _spunky_?"

For the first time, I see him smile. It's not a pleasant expression on the man, I have to admit. He almost looks in pain.

"Just like that," he says.


	5. Chapter Five

Starbright Victor

Oran Gray

Chapter Five: The Game Always Has It's Players

* * *

"_Oran!" squeals a bubbly, childish voice from behind me. _

_Indigo leaps onto my back, exposed to the harsh District Eleven sun as I gather edible roots from the paddock. It's hot, and sweat drips from my brow. I'm not wearing a shirt, which Indigo, upon her exuberant arrival, claims is: "Yucky!"_

_Azura quickly joins us, but she does not giggle and carry on the way her twin sister does. Azura was born… different. She doesn't relate to people the way we do, and there's nothing our family, or anyone else in District Eleven for that matter, can do about it._

"_Hey, you two," I say, dropping my harvesting tools and wrapping my arms around them, ruffling Azura's chocolate hair despite her silent protests. "How was school?"_

_Indigo and Azura are only five. In seven short years, they will drop their education and work throughout the harvest like the rest of us. They'll also be eligible for the reaping._

"_Good," says Indigo, smiling widely at me, her two front teeth missing. "We made you something!"_

_The edges of Azura's lips tilt upwards, which is a rarity. The slight smile is gone so quickly that I'm not entirely sure if I imagined it or not. _

"_Really?" I ask, faking enthusiasm. Honestly, I love having them here. But the longer they stay the more work I have to do before I can truly retire for the night. "Well, go on, show me then."_

_Indigo pulls from the pocket of her purple smock dress a piece of paper and places it into my dirt-ridden hands. I un-fold it, which is quite a task as Indigo is an elaborate folder, and stare._

_There's a poorly drawn man, with a body the thickness of sticks. On his head there is a golden crown. The crown the victor of each Hunger Games is awkwarded every year._

"_It's you," says Indigo, seeing the confusion light up my dirt-caked face._

It's you.

* * *

"Oran."

_Shut up._

"Oran."

Shaking... even _more_ shaking. _Leave me alone…_

"Oran!"

_I wish you would just leave._

"Fucking wake up!"

_FINE._

I sit up _way_ too quickly and black spots start to cloud my vision, dancing and twirling before my eyes. I steady myself with my left hand, holding my right in front of my eyes to stop the sunlight streaming in through the crack under the door.

"How late did I sleep?" I mumble.

Saresh, my district partner, sighs falling back onto my bed. She's been trying to wake me up for quite a while now, it seems. "Noon," she says through her teeth.

Saresh and I have known each other since we started school. We weren't that close, but we'd worked a weekly shift together last harvest. Before then we'd hardly talked. That season Saresh and I had sat high in the tree tops and plucked deep, juicy purple fruits, tossing them down to the awaiting workers holding out nets below.

"I have feelings for you, Oran," she'd said one day. I'd blanched, unsure what to do as she waited patiently for an answer.

"Oh," I'd uttered, looking away. Sure, I liked Saresh, but not _that _way. But how did I say that?

I guess I'd taken long enough to answer, because she'd slid down the tree and stomped off angrily before I could say anything else. I don't think we'd spoken from that point on, until reaping day, where we'd had no choice but to repair our fractured acquaintanceship and get on with what little of our lives we had left.

"Noon!" I, too, fall backwards onto the bed. Unfortunately, I'm not as graceful as Saresh and I hit my head on the wall on the way down.

I curse under my breath, rubbing the back of my neck with my palm. "What time did Chaff say for us to meet?"

"Ten," Saresh mutters, her voice muffled against the many rich, warm blankets of my bed. _Ten!_

I am up already, rushing to the small bathroom in the corner of my room. I hastily dress in the first things I can grab, a white tank top that shows off my arm muscles and a pair of black workout pants. "You should have woke me up!" I chastise Saresh through the thin wooden door, hectically splashing water across my face, reaching for my tooth brush and applying mint-flavoured paste frantically.

"Correction! _Chaff _should have woken you up!"

I rinse and spit. _That _was _correct. Chaff should be the one waking me up, not Saresh. _"You're right, I-" my hand pushes the door open again, "shouldn't be blaming you for this."

We survey each other for a while, eyes analysing the other's expressions.

"Why are you wearing that?" Saresh finally snaps, breaking the silence between us.

"Wearing what?" I look myself up and down, not seeing anything stupid-looking or amiss.

"You're not going to wear a suit?"

"Why would I wear a suit?" I ask, confused.

Saresh looks at me like I have grown horns. "Today we're practising for the interviews."

"So?"

"He's going to make you wear a suit."

"Huh?'

"I said, Chaff's gonna make you wear a suit."

* * *

Chaff _does _make me wear a suit. We practice talking, walking and even smiling in the dining room that afternoon. We were discussing strategies when he instructs me not to smirk, because people will take this as 'cheek.'

"Cheek?" I scoff, but soon learn the better of it. "What's wrong with showing cheek?"

Chaff just shakes his head at me. "I really thought you were a smart kid, Gray."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means this: I don't think you take these Games seriously enough. I've seen you, muckin' about at trainin' with that young blonde from District Six."

He's wrong. I do take the Games seriously. I want to get home more than anything, back to my little sisters who don't stand a chance without me. Me, the level-headed one. I'm not like my free-spirited, rebel parents. I could be trusted to look after Indigo and Azura. I would never put them in danger, not even to stand up for something I believe in.

"I take my life seriously, Chaff," I say, tugging on the tie he'd pressured me into wearing and pulling it off. "But I handle my last few guaranteed days of life how I want to."

I shrug my black tuxedo jacket off and hang it over a nearby chair. "And that young blonde from District Six? Her name's Altaira, and if I wanna win these Games, then I've got to have her as an ally. _That's _why I'm muckin'about."

* * *

This year, Caesar Flickerman has dyed his hair yellow. In my opinion, he resembles a tropical bird.

Surprisingly, I feel as if I'm not really here. I watch as Caesar introduces the first tribute, the girl from District One who was caught up in the net, but I don't feel any different as I do when I watch them Games from home. I can almost feel my sisters curled up at my sides, Azura snoring softly and Indigo babbling loudly in my ear about nothing in particular.

Although, in reality, I'm crammed into a circle of brooding, silent teenagers who are all sentenced to die.

Except one.

And that one person will be me.

Interviews pass quickly. I can't say I pay that much attention, I only process snippets of information I've heard every now and then. A buzzer rings when each tribute's three minutes is up. I vaguely wonder what I'll be asked.

"Hello, Altaira," says Caesar enthusiastically. My head snaps up. If I want Altaira as my ally, which I certainly do, then I will have to watch her interview. "So, we've all seen the recaps of the reapings… tell me, what was going through your mind?"

Altaira shifts uncomfortably, her fingers rapping against the provocative, strapless, sparkling blue mini dress her eccentric stylist Gloria has dressed her in. Altaira's lips have been painted to match her dress, and blue sparkles have been added around her smoky eye make-up. Her hair is done up in a simple, messy bun. When she looks down nervously a single, curly strand falls out. She then restlessly tucks it behind her ear and looks up.

"I was scared."

Caesar is all sympathy. "And why would that be?"

This time, when Altaira looks up, there's something of a glint in her eye. "Are you kidding? Have you seen Panthera?"

The audience roars with laughter, and soon I find myself laughing too. I have to agree with what she's said. Panthera would be a much scarier mentor than old Chaff.

The rest of the interview goes like this: Caesar asks questions, Altaira replies cheekily, and the crowd falls into fits of laughter. The crowd gives her the most applause I've heard all night.

Once she's gone, the interviews falls back into the lulling routine. I don't even properly register the buzzer that signifies Saresh's interview is over. Then my name is called.

"Oran, my boy!" Caesar booms heartily as we shake hands. "We've all been wanting to know, what exactly does your name mean?"

The crowd nod in agreement. Oran is not a common name at all.

"Green. In Ancient Irish."

"Ancient Irish?" Caesar repeats, a confused look spreading across his face.

And so I launch into an explanation about how obsessed my parents are with dead languages. I try to drag it out as long as I can, because I'm afraid of what else he'll ask, and am pleased to find that I've wasted my entire interview with an explanation about the words of ancient civilisation.

_Chaff's gonna kill me later._

After the interviews we're allowed to leave. I exchange a brief smile of congratulations with Altaira, which unluckily Chaff seems to catch.

"I'm curious," he begins, taking a scull from his whiskey that he'd acquired backstage, "as to why the District Six girl is your choice for an ally."

I roll my eyes, and we step into the elevator together. I punch the number eleven in with my thumb. "Trust you not to see it."

"See what, exactly?"

I snort. "That she's the perfect choice for an ally-"

"Yeah, sure. Golden blonde hair, twinkling blue eyes, innocent-"

"No!" I run my hand through my hair, looking around making sure no one's listening. "You pervert."

The elevator door closes and we begin our ride upwards.

"Altaira's smart, Chaff. Real smart, as you saw just in there. She's not usually like that, _at all. _That is, of course, unless she's played me as well," I pause for breath, surveying Chaff's facial expressions and trying to figure out what he's thinking. No such luck.

"We all know she fainted at the reaping, but did she do that on purpose? She could have done it _all_ for the cameras, and no one would ever know. I've seen her with weapons too, I can tell she's never used them before in her life, but she's managed to hit the bullseye with an arrow, a knife and an axe in just four short days. Imagine what she could do with more practice…"

I trail off because the elevator door chimes, and slowly the doors slide open. Chaff and I are faced with Saresh and Seeder, who both smile weakly at me. _Everyone's worried about Oran tonight,_ I think with disgust.

When we reach the door of my room, I turn to face Chaff with a hard look in my eyes. He places his hand, scratched and scarred from working during the harvest, on my shoulder, his eyes still unreadable.

"You're a good kid, Gray, and I trust your judgement. Just remember where you are out there, okay?"

"Sure thing, old man."


	6. Chapter Six

Hey guys! Thanks so much for the reviews! Sorry this chapter took me a little while, but it's a long one. And, its the chapter in which the Games begin! So this is all I have to say, pretty much. Oh, and to answer blondwisegirl's question: "Why does Chaff call Oran 'Gray'?" Chaff calls Oran 'Gray' because that's his last name. The reason he calls him by his last name will be revealed in later chapters. Let's just say this... they've known eachother a while. Anyway, enough babbling, on with the story!

* * *

Starbright Victor

Altaira Izek

Chapter Six: Think Only Of Us

* * *

"I'll do my hair," I say, taking the brush from Gloria's hands. She doesn't even protest, as she usually does. Today could very well be the last day of my life.

I whisk it up into a sloppy ponytail as I had once done everyday back home, placing the brush down on the table beside me. Everyone will gather in the village square today, including my father. On this cloudy, dismal morning, they'll be forced out of their homes to watch my murder.

Gloria's cigarette is clenched in between her teeth as she examines the outfit I'm to wear in the arena, a skin tight, shiny, cherry red bodysuit. She doesn't offer any words of advice or comfort as her quick hands help me prepare. The thin material is clingy and uncomfortable, and I can already feel myself sweating. It is so light that I feel as if I am naked, and compared to it my father's wristwatch weighs a ton.

"All done," Gloria says, tossing her cigarette on the floor and stubbing it out with her sharp, vivid red, five inch heels. She doesn't seem to mind the mess, but I'm sure she knows that an Avox will clean it up following our departure. I wonder vaguely if it will be my mother.

We then leave for the roof of the Training Centre, where we wait rather impatiently for some sort of sign that tells us that we have not been forgotten... yet. Finally, a hovercraft arrives to collect us and we clamber up the ramp. I bite my lip to stop from crying out whilst a man in a white coat injects a tracker into my arm.

I do not have time to take a seat, the Capitol vehicles are very efficient and we arrive on a launch pad nearby. I'm blindfolded before the hatch is opened, but I don't put up a fuss. I've already accepted what is to become of me, now I fear only for my parents. The wind from the hovercraft wreaks havoc with my hair, almost entirely ruining my ponytail. I stubbornly hold it down with my hand though, and soon I feel stillness in the air around me.

A woman in a white coat unties my blindfold, and I become aware of my surroundings. We're standing in a vast, wide cavern. There's not an ornament of decoration in sight, and the hushed voices of the Capitol men and women behind me echo around us.

Beside me, Gloria does not look at all fazed. She lights up another cigarette and stares ahead whilst the people in the white coats continue to talk. Soon we begin moving again, walking down the seemingly endless cavern, not turning right nor left. At last, we come to a sliding metal door, held down with millions of intricate locks and bolts. I realize that this is to make sure that I cannot escape.

The man who injected me with the tracker enters a long code into a small mechanic box next to the door. I could have observed the code, storing it in my capable mind space, but instead I opt to try and contain my nerves. I take deep, calming breaths and watch as the door slides slowly upwards, revealing a small metal room.

"Please take your place on the golden plate, Miss Izek. You have five minutes."

I glance at Gloria, who grimaces at me, then turns away carelessly and breathes out the smoke from her cigarette. Realising that I have been dismissed, I make my way into the room and stand on the raised golden circle in the middle of the room. The sliding door hits the ground behind me with a clang and I am alone.

_I have five minutes._

With a jerk, the golden circle begins to lower itself. I cannot see anything apart from silver metal all around me, and I start to feel claustrophobic. My heart is beating too fast to be remotely healthy, and my nails dig into my body suit.

Suddenly, the metal walls are gone and I see the other tributes. They stand on golden plates, as I do, waiting for the sound of the gong that will release us. They take either offensive or defensive stances, eyes burning with the will to fight to the death. But I find that I cannot move, as I have frozen with shock.

Tall, concrete walls surround us. Impossible to climb or penetrate. I'm worrying about this until I notice the small arches in the walls. This is a reassurance to me.

_The arena is a maze._

I've studied mazes my entire life, at school and at home with my father. I know how to get out. It's only a process of elimination.

I'm thinking about this as the gong sounds. I hear it, but I still can't move. I'm too busy calculating my next move. _Do I run, or do I fight?_

The Cornucopia is no where in sight, and to me, it seems that it's hidden somewhere in the maze. Without the Cornucopia, I have no weapons. I have no chance of survival.

Tributes all around me are fighting hand-to-hand combat. About ten metres in front of me, Hook grips Apodemus' neck in his brutal, strong hands and twists. I hear a sickening crack and a blood curdling scream as the young boy falls to the ground, lifeless. I'm shaking now, head to toe. And not little shivers, I mean colossal earthquake-like shakes.

Glow takes down the boy from District Ten twenty metres to my left. I hear more screaming, and I can feel tears pricking at my eyes. The girl from District Eleven lies in a pool of her own blood not too far away from where I stand, as frozen as a statue.

"Altaira!" I hear my name called through the haze of death and violence, but I don't register the voice. Not even as forest green eyes lock onto my horror-filled stare.

Oran is in front of me now; he taps me on the shoulder, yelling out instructions to me. I don't hear them, everything is muffled. I can only hear the cries of the victims, the roar of the triumphant Careers.

I don't register much other than those things, even when Oran takes me in his arms, slings me over his back and runs.

We run for some time, Oran becoming more and more annoyed the longer he stays trapped in the maze. "Altaira, you gotta help-"

My body thumps to the ground, and my eyes snap open. I can hear the muffled sounds of battle less than two metres from where I lie, crumpled. I then hear a wet, disgusting sound and a low whimper of mercy. Within a minute, Oran is back to me. He helps me stand upright, and I clutch at my head.

I blanch as I spy the knife in his hand, dripping with blood. I yank my hand away from his, betrayal covering my face.

"No, Altaira. We're allies," he says, lowering the knife. He gestures to the body on the ground next to us, the boy from District Three. "See?"

Slowly, I nod. Oran crouches down and searches the body for anything of use. He finds two more knives, hands one to me and places the other in the belt of his trousers. I realize with jealousy that only the girls were made to wear those ridiculous bodysuits. The boys were given a practical pair of black pants and a red t-shirt.

"How did he…?" I trail off, as I'm sure Oran knows what I mean. How could this boy have possibly found the Cornucopia already? The Games are barely ten minutes old.

"I don't know," he says, looking around. "But he was a smart guy."

"Yeah." I glance down at my knife as Oran wipes his clean on his shirt. _How long can this alliance possibly last?_ I ponder._ A few days? Hours? Minutes?_

"Do you think you know how to get out of here?"

"Yes," I say, "If there _is_ a way out, anyway."

He chuckles. "Need me to carry you again?"

"What? No!" I blush, brushing the dirt from my bodysuit self-consciously. "First we try left."

I lead, Oran behind me, keeping an eye out for any advancing tributes. Screaming and the sound of cannon toll on and on. I find myself biting my nails as we walk.

_I'm not dead yet, _I remind myself.

"Did you see anyone you knew... you know?" Oran asks at one point.

"Yeah… both of our district partners are dead," I whisper back to him, abruptly turning right.

"Saresh?" he queries, his voice a little shaky. I didn't get the impression that they knew each other too well, but still, I knew why he was upset. Our district partners were all that we had left to link to home._ I feel the same way about Apodemus_, I realize with an ache deep in my gut. _But how do I say that?_

"I-I'm sorry," I settle for.

Within an hour, we make our way out of the maze. A forest of thick, tall pine trees begins only a hundred or so metres away. Oran and I run to cover, knives held at the ready by our sides.

We walk deeper and deeper into the forest for the rest of the day, not speaking. I pretend I don't hear Oran's swearing, and he pretends he doesn't hear my sobbing. I try to pull myself together by saying my final goodbye to Apodemus silently in my thoughts. _Scurry home, little mouse._

"Where are we going?" I finally wonder aloud after a few hours of silence.

"To find shelter and water," says Oran.

Soon enough, we find a small stream by a cave. "We could sleep in there," I splutter as I choke down as much water as I can handle.

"It's not ideal, but I guess we don't have much choice. The pine branches look too weak to hold our weight."

If I was Glow I would have been offended.

That afternoon we sit outside the cave, camouflaging it to the best of our abilities. I'm not very good at it, so Oran does most of the work. I find I'm better at things that don't require creativity.

"We'll find some food tomorrow," Oran states when my stomach grumbles rather loudly. I am mortified so I just nod.

When the moon rises, the Capitol anthem begins to play. We watch the sky through a small gap in the tall pine trees as the faces of the dead are shown.

I politely look down when Saresh's face is shown in the sky. Oran only clears his throat though. I wonder what she'd meant to him.

Fifteen dead. Nine alive.

"That has to be some sort of record," Oran mutters, like he too despises the Capitol. "They didn't waste much time by trapping us in that maze, did they?"

I don't say anything.

He offers to keep watch that night and I try to make myself comfortable on the lousy dirt covered floor inside the cave. It's warmer inside the cave, but I'm still shivering from head to toe. Oran sits at the mouth of the poorly camouflaged cave. I watch him as he tosses a small stone back and forth between his hands as I wait for sleep to claim me.

It doesn't though. I can't help it. I'm way too cold and terrified of what will come.

"How well did you know Saresh?" I whisper.

Oran turns around to glance at me, but then returns to his original position, staring out into the forest. "Not that well."

"What do you mean by that?"

He runs his hand through his hair. "She told me she had feelings for me once."

"Oh."

A few more minutes of awkward silence pass.

"And what did you say back?"

"I said nothing."

"Why?"

Oran changes positions, wrapping his arms around his knees to try and attempt to keep warm. "I don't know."

His teeth are chattering. The Gamemakers must be dropping the temperature on purpose, because its getting colder at a rapid rate.

"No one's going to have made it out yet," I say, my breath creating fog as I speak. It's true, no one but Apodemus and I could have possibly figured their way out by now. And Apodemus is dead. "I think we could both get some sleep."

Oran actually yawns. "Probably," he agrees, crawling towards the back of the cave where I lie huddled into myself for warmth.

"You know, we'd be a lot less cold if we… uh, you know…"

I do know. It's Science, after all. Our body heat would reflect onto each other, making us warmer. _But…_

"I understand if you think that'd be weird."

I did think that it would be weird. I'm even about to decline his offer, but my shivering limbs protest against that.

"Okay," I say, simply.

Oran moves to lie beside me, and we shift awkwardly so that his arm rests over my waist. We stay like that for a while, but I'm too aware of his body next to mine to sleep. I listen to his breathing, slow and steady intakes and outtakes. I wonder if he's already asleep.

Questions formulate in my mind. _Why did he pick you? Why not someone more capable, strong, deadly?_

His arm is suddenly a thousand times heavier as it lays across my hip.

_He really is quite attractive, _I remember myself thinking once.

My face and hands are still freezing, so, unable to help myself, I turn to face Oran, his arm still dangling loosely over me.

Big mistake.

His eyes snap open, yet he does not move an inch. I can feel my face heating up, embarrassment leaking across my features. I can feel his hot breath on my cheek, and I shiver, although not from the cold.

We stare at each other for a while, not moving from our embrace. It's so comfortable I don't want to move anyway, so I'm quite content.

"Altaira," Oran begins his voice suddenly very deep and rough. I blink at the effect it has on me, like butterflies flying about my stomach. "Have you ever…?"

But he trails off, as is the norm today. Although, I find that I don't understand this time.

"Have I ever what?" I whisper.

"Have you ever been kissed?" He asks, his voice still low and gravelly.

I'm so taken aback by his question that I have to blink once or twice before I can look down and shake my head meekly.

"Do you want to be… kissed?"

I look up to find his face only centimetres from mine. "I mean, I get it if you don't. I know that… that one of us is going to…"

_Die._

"… but, I figure this. If we die in the arena, we'll never know."

I understand his reasoning. I'd even thought about it myself before the reaping.

"I just want to know what its like… before..."

_We die._

I can feel his eyes searching my face for any sign of permission. I wonder if my father is watching us right now, or if he is just getting home from work and preparing his dinner of Groosling, which he will eat alone.

_He'll eat alone for the rest of his life, _I think.

Slowly, I nod. "Alright," I allow myself to say, thinking only of us in that moment as his lips cover mine.


	7. Chapter Seven

Starbright Victor

Oran Gray

Chapter Seven: This Is My Plan

* * *

I dream of my sisters that night. Indigo combs Azura's hair, singing a song my mother used to sing to me. Azura does not laugh or smile the way her sister does, but I know she is happy. I can see it in her eyes.

I wake up to find Altaira snuggled up against my chest. I blink a few times, trying to figure out how this had happened. Memories from last night come flooding back. I remember the way I'd freaked out, worrying that I'd never experience my first kiss if I am to die in the arena. The way I'd asked for her permission, and the way she'd said yes. The way she'd fallen asleep in my arms, her hair smelling of flowers, reminding me of the harvest.

I take a long look at the girl before me. She would be sixteen at most, although she seems as young as my sisters as she sleeps. Her long golden hair shines under the sunlight streaming into our cave. Her eyes are closed now, but I remember them to be the shade of a sparkling sapphire gem.

_But what does this girl mean to me?_

She stirs; her face tired and groggy with a frown not much different that a grumpy toddler's etched onto her face. I smile sleepily at her, forgetting where we are for just a moment. She's about to grin back when…

She starts laughing uncontrollably.

"What?" I hiss, trying not to grin at the look on her face.

"Your hair!" she chokes out between guffaws. "It's sticking up all over the place!"

I hastily flatten it, hiding my embarrassment by claiming I'm going to go drink some water from the stream. She stops laughing immediately, reminded once again of where we are.

I find the small stream undisturbed, check the trees around our cave for any sign of movement, see none and lean down to gulp in the cold liquid. Last night, I'd said to Altaira that we'd go hunting today, so I ignore the aching pain in my gut. For now, I attempt to focus on nothing but satisfying my thirst.

But as the cool, satisfying water glides down my dry, parched throat, my mind wanders. _Would Altaira expect some kind of relationship now? _I didn't want a relationship; I wanted to win the Games. And to win the Games, I must not become attached to others.

I'm considering this when I hear a faint rustling in the distance. I try to remain calm, not alerting the intruder to the fact that I know about their presence. After all, it could just be an animal.

_No, two footfalls… definitely a tribute._

I turn just as an arrow lodges itself into the material of my trousers, narrowly missing my leg. I fall backwards to the ground, trapped.

I can see my attacker now, a tall, slender girl from District Nine. The hunting district. I'd seen her archery skills in training, she never missed. _But then why didn't she aim to kill?_

"Are you alone?" she snaps, her voice low and menacing, standing over me, her makeshift bow loaded with a new arrow, pointed directly at my skull. She's about seventeen, a little older than Altaira. Her hair is a deep, fiery red and is cropped messily to sit at her jaw. She too, like my ally, has blue eyes, although these eyes are as pale blue as the winter skies back home.

"Are you deaf, or just stupid?"

Out of the corner of my eye I can see Altaira crouching behind a bush, her knife ready. She motions to me to keep quiet, and then taps her ear. _She wants me to listen to what she has to say, _I realize.

"I'm alone," I state, trying to keep my voice even.

"Good. I'm Chouette, but you can just call me Cho," she lowers her bow a little, cocking an eyebrow at me. "And you are?"

I'm confused.

"You want something," I say, dangerously ignoring her question.

Cho nods. "Your name."

I smirk. "You shoot an arrow at my trousers, pinning me to the ground, aim an arrow at my head, and then question me only my name? I'm sorry, but I'm pretty damn sure that you want something else."

As I say this, my eyes flicker to where Altaira crouches, watching us. _Why don't you just kill her already?_

Unfortunately, Cho follows my gaze, her eyes landing on Altaira straight away. _She was never really good at camouflaging, _my conscience supplies dryly.

"You said you were alone," Cho says through grit teeth. Before I can think of anything to say to that her foot lands roughly on my gut, causing me to lose my breath as she aims her bow in the direction of my ally, pulling on the string but not releasing it.

Altaira's eyes widen. She processes her surroundings for a second or two, and then slowly walks from the bushes into the little clearing where I lie on the ground, panting for air. She holds up her hands and her only weapon, her knife, clatters to the ground.

"Who're you?" Cho hisses.

"I'm Altaira."

"And I take it that you and Oran are allies?"

"Yes."

"I'll lower my bow if you can stand perfectly still. Don't touch that knife or I shoot and you're dead."

Altaira only nods.

"So here's my plan," Cho says as she lowers her weapon. "I need allies to take down the Careers. We don't stand a chance on our own out here, but if we work together there's a better chance that one of us will win, not one of them."

I don't say anything.

"Logical. But why prolong the inevitable?" asks Altaira. "Only one of us can survive in the end, and if we were to… _kill-_" she winces, "the Careers, it would only result in a bloodbath of our own. Between allies."

I grab the arrow that has punctured my trouser leg, yank it out and yelp as I then remove a splinter from my index finger.

Both Cho and Altaira glance around at me with annoyed expressions, then continue on with their conversation. I look down at the gaping whole in my trousers, grumbling.

"Perhaps, but wouldn't you rather one of us lower district tributes won in the end?"

"We're all kids, just trying to get home to our families," Altaira shrugs. I find myself wondering if I've ever glimpsed the true Altaira, if this is all just a façade and she's planning on killing me in my sleep.

"That's not true. You know it, he knows it-" Cho jabs a finger in my general direction without turning around, "and I know it. All of those Careers out there volunteered for this. They trained for it, too."

"How do you know that for sure? The Capitol doesn't allow us to know anything about other districts. I'm fairly sure this conversation we're having won't even be shown on television." She's right, the Capitol won't want anyone to hear this.

"I know for sure because I forced it out of one before I killed him," Cho snaps as she strokes her bow fondly. Altaira shuts up.

"You took down the District One boy?" I ask, remembering seeing his face, the first in the sky last night.

"Yeah, he tried to climb the walls of the maze. I followed him up there and pushed him down," Cho says, turning so that she can see both of us. "Splat."

Altaira looks uncomfortable.

"So, if we can just find Ethon we'll be even with the Careers."

"What, in numbers?" I ask.

Cho nods. "Four on both teams."

"Wait, did you just say _team_?"

"Yes, a team," she spits. "Don't you think I would have killed you by now if that's what I'd wanted?"

"Who killed the District Four girl?" I ask.

"I did. Snapped her kneck when she tried to tackle me."

Altaira's glare fixates on her knife, and again I ponder my earlier thoughts.

"Don't even think about it," Cho snarls. "You're lucky I haven't put an arrow through your skull, doll face."

I bite back a laugh. Altaira looks nothing like a doll, standing there in her clingy red jumpsuit covered in dirt and dust from sleeping in the cave last night. Still, she looks hurt and reaches for a lock of her long golden hair, examining it.

I sit up, crossing my legs. "Who's Ethon anyway?"

"He's the boy from District Seven. Expert with an axe and a spear, he's not gonna stand a chance out here though. District Seven kids don't know a thing about the wilderness."

"Right. So, how do we know he won't chop us up into little pieces when we try and tell him your plan?"

Cho walks over and snatches the broken arrow from beside me. "We don't."

"Promising," I smirk. "Have you got any food?"

"No. But the forest is full with game. I'll go shoot something now and bring it back. You and Barbie over there go gather some roots." Without another word, our newest ally stomps off back into the forest, her bow ready and her senses alert.

Altaira swivels abruptly on her heel and marches back into the cave.

"Women," I mumble, slowly unfolding my limbs and following after her. When I arrive, I spy her sitting at the back of the cave, pulling out some roots with a pissed off expression on her face.

I crouch down beside her, helping her draw out the harmless plants I recognise from home. Not nice to eat, but at least something.

"Are you alright?"

She snorts. "No. She wants to go on a bloody killing spree!"

I laugh, which just makes her angrier. "Hey, she could be useful to us. She knows how to hunt, which means food without any effort on our part. There are no guarantees that we'll even_ find_ Ethon, and I'm pretty sure that she's not prepared to go into a fight a man down. Just give it a couple of days; we can always take off if this alliance doesn't work to our advantage."

She sighs. "I should have killed her before she saw me. But... I was never prepared for this. I don't think I _can_ take a life."

The image of _my _knife propelled by _my _hands penetrating the heart of the District Three boy comes back to haunt me. I push it from my mind; I don't want to think of myself as a murderer.

"With Cho around, maybe you won't have to."

"You're right. I'm sorry, I'm- I'm just not like the rest of you. I see the way you handle this, you do what you can to get home to your family. I have a family too, albeit a small one, but I… I can't even do it for them. I don't want my father to remember me as a killer."

Her words sting, although they're not intended to. _Is that what Indigo and Azura see me as now? Did they get scared when they saw me stab that boy?_

"I understand," is all I can say.

We gather roots in silence then, awaiting Cho's return. It's a familiar silence, not an awkward one. I watch Altaira as she works, taking note in the way her arms move and the rhythm of her gentle breathing. I find myself staring at her lips, recalling how they felt against mine. _Would it really be so wrong to ask for a second kiss? _

Altaira looks up just then, catching my stare and watching me with curious blue eyes. I quickly look down, pretending that she saw nothing. _You're a tribute in the Hunger Games, Oran. You don't kiss girls. You _kill _girls._

I shudder.

Cho arrives then, blatantly announcing her arrival at the entrance of the cave, her bow and a fox pelt both draped over her shoulder. "Blondie, you start a fire. Oran, you help me gut this pelt."

I grimace at Altaira, who is now cursing under her breath, then go to help Cho, fishing my knife from my belt. We skin the animal, burying the useless inedible parts. I don't do much, but I follow the huntress' instructions as she asks.

"Did you make your bow and arrow yourself?" I ask, trying to make conversation as we work.

"Yeah, last night. My parents owned the weaponry back home and I worked there part time."

"Do you think you could make a Crossbow?"

Cho shrugs. "Sure. I mean, it can't be that different from a regular bow."

"That would be useful. Altaira could use a bow too. She's more apt with a knife, but she's alright at archery from what I've seen at training."

"Huh. I didn't picture doll face as an archer."

I chuckle.

We head back to the clearing with our clean pelt. Altaira, who's maintaining the fire, glares at us upon arrival. "About time, I've had the fire going for ages. Anyone nearby could've smelt the smoke and came and killed me for all you knew."

"The Careers headed out towards the Cornucopia. That's miles from here, and I'm pretty sure Ethon's content keeping to himself."

"The Cornucopia?" Altaira asks; her eyes wide. "We didn't see it at all."

"It's in the meadow."

"The meadow?"

"Yeah, on the opposite side of the maze. Hook climbed the wall and-"

"Hook _climbed_ the wall?"

"Yes, now shut up and stop asking questions," Cho hisses, wrapping the pelt in the frond of some weird plant we'd found earlier and tossing it into the fire. "Hook climbed the wall and ran to the Cornucopia, found some sort of detonator device and threw it, blowing the wall to bits so that the rest of the Career pack could get out. Stroke of luck for me really, I'd been trying to find my way out all afternoon. I was able to slip out unnoticed and circle the maze until I was as far away from them as possible. I slept the night in a tree and then came across you two."

"The Cornucopia is usually easy to find, though," I say, sitting beside Altaira and watching the flames dance.

"Seems like the Gamemakers had other plans this year," replies Cho, also kneeling down opposite us.

We all watch the fire then, marvelling in the beauty of such a deadly substance. I remember the bush fire I'd once experienced back home. I my head I can picture the tall wall of fire bearing down upon the crops, burning all our hard work. The Harvest Coordinator had been sentenced the death by firing squad that year.

"There's another way to get supplies," Altaira says suddenly. "The boy who attacked us in the maze, Oran, he had those knives! That means that the Gamemakers have hidden them elsewhere in the arena, too."

"Unless he made it out of the maze to the Cornucopia first, then went back inside," Cho supplies.

"No. He attacked us only ten minutes after the gong rang, and we were out of the maze before Hook reached the Cornucopia. We didn't hear the explosion," I say.

There's silence again, and my mind wanders back home to District Eleven. My sisters would be at school now, safe. I hope they aren't thinking of me.

When the fox is cooked Altaira and I eat ravenously. The meat is tough and not at all nice, but I'm too starved to care. I'd never gone hungry for too long at home, and it appears that she hadn't either.

Cho however, eats slowly. I'm almost positive that she ate the night before. We eat all of the fox, as we have nothing to carry any remaining meat in. Altaira and I put out the fire with water from the stream, and then eat the roots we'd gathered. "Oh no, you guys eat. I've got to do some stuff," is what Cho says when we offer her a portion.

As I chew, I watch Cho sit on the ground, drawing maps and making plans with a pointed stick in the dirt. "Eight to go," she mutters every now and again.


	8. Chapter Eight

Starbright Victor

Altaira Izek

Chapter Eight: Betrayal

* * *

Cho refuses to sleep in the cave that night.

"Of course," I say, throwing up my hands in exasperation. "She can go fall out of a tree, for all I care."

Oran snorts. "Aw come on, you don't really hate her that much. You're just pissed off she's making plans and you haven't thought of one yet."

I blink. _Is it really that obvious? _"Whatever."

I sit on the ground then, leaning against the rock wall of the cave and looking up at the roof. "We can't stay here tomorrow night," I state plainly.

"Why?" Oran asks, gathering the remaining roots we hadn't eaten into a pile in the corner of the cave.

"I don't think staying in one place for a long time is particularly wise."

"I guess so. We'll see what Cho thinks tomorrow morning."

_We'll see what Cho thinks tomorrow morning. _

I groan. _I'm_ meant to be the smart one. _I'm_ meant to make the strategic plans.

"What now?" Oran laughs.

"Nothing," I grumble. "I'm going to see if Cho wants these."

Before he can say anything else, I grab the neatly piled roots and walk from the cave towards the tree Cho had elected her sleeping spot. I'm walking, listening to the soft crunch of my footfalls when I hear a hollow sound. Curious, I look down at my feet. I stomp again; surprised when I hear the same noise once more.

I drop the roots by my feet, crouch down and begin digging, using my fingernails to scrape away the dirt. It's uncomfortable, but it's the most effective way for now. I fall to my knees and dig, dig, dig. Finally, I feel my nails slide across something that isn't dirt. Metal.

I pry my knife from my belt and use it to dig around the edges of the silver coloured square. Sure enough, it's a box. About fourty centimetres squared.

"Oran!" I call, and then clasp my hand over my mouth as I'm once again reminded of where we are. He's heard me though, and he comes running out to me.

"What is it?" he whispers, eyes wide, kneeling down beside me.

"I don't know," I say. "Help me get it out."

Together we lift the heavy box out of the hole I'd dug with my bare hands and lower it onto the ground in the clearing not far from the cave. "Should we wake Cho?" I ask, examining what I'd found.

"Not yet," Oran says, much to my delight. "Let's see what it is first."

He locates a latch and flicks it open, then uses his work worn hands to slowly ease the lid open. I take a peek inside, too curious for my own good.

"Amazing," I say sitting in front of it, pulling out the supplies one by one. "This must be how the District Thee boy got the knives!"

It's dark out, but there's enough moonlight to make out the basic outlines of the bounty. I run my hands over each piece of treasure, smiling. Oran places three copper daggers in his belt. I hold in my own hands the beautiful, carved golden blade from training with Dan that one day. I marvel in its perfection once more, entranced as I slide it into my belt alongside my now shabby looking silver knife.

"Looks like we won't need Cho for hunting anymore," I murmur, taking a large black backpack and unzipping it. From within it I pull trail snacks, beef jerky, crackers and water bottles filled with fresh water galore.

"They'll be gone within a few days," Oran replies. "I'll tell you what, lets not tell Cho for now. If we need to, we'll tell her in the morning."

"Alright," I say. Oran stands and reaches for the backpack, but I have a better idea. "No, you help me put the box back in the hole."

"But why?" he asks. "It's pointless."

"It's not. If another tribute happened to see it, they could figure it out. I bet that there are more of these boxes, filled with more weapons. Maybe even bigger ones, with swords and bows and spears in them. If we could find more, we'd have power over them. Right now, the Careers probably think the Cornucopia is the only stash. Ethon most likely believes that there are no weapons at all this year," I tap the golden knife in my belt, "Better if we're the only ones with this knowledge."

Oran seems to understand, because he moves to help me carefully lower the box back into the ground. We cover it with the dirt as best as we can, then return to the cave, the black backpack slung over my right shoulder.

I put it down at the back of the cave, then stand up and swivel around all too fast. I smack into something, something lean, muscled and very _very _male.

Suddenly, it's incredibly hot inside the cave. My hands are clammy and the red bodysuit seems too revealing, although I had no real problems with it before. I tilt my head upwards to find that his forest-coloured eyes are only inches from my own sapphire orbs.

"Altaira-"

The Capitol anthem begins, and I dart away from Oran, thankful for the interruption. I'm nervous beyond belief, and those butterflies have returned with a vengeance. I stand just outside of the caves entrance, watching the sky for faces. Only one is shown tonight, the girl from District Two.

"Gamemakers," Oran says simply from my side. A shiver runs up my spine and I blush. I don't know if he can see the redness on my cheekbones in the moonlight, but I opt for the darkness of the cave once more.

"Any guesses as to how long they'll let us be?"

"Not long," I utter.

The air begins to chill around us.

* * *

"Well, isn't that sweet."

I jolt upright, Oran's arm still hanging lazily over me. Cho's smirking down at us, her eyebrows raised. I blush, and attempt to stutter out an explanation.

"No need to explain," Cho says, sneering and holding up her hands. "I understand perfectly."

I don't think she does. _At all._

Oran's arm uncoils from around my waist as he pushes himself upright with his other. "Oh hey," he mumbles, squinting against the bright sunlight streaming into the cave and running his hand through his hair. "Listen, last night-"

But Cho's already spotted the golden blade glittering lazily next to me, among two new copper daggers and my original silver knife. "That hilt's made of gold from District One."

I blink. _Was that a question or a statement? _"I don't know, probably."

"Her parents own the weaponry back in District Nine," Oran explains, smirking at the dazed expression on Cho's face as she stares at the shiny new weapon.

"Right," she snaps, all of a sudden returning to her usual abrupt self. "Care to tell me how you found this?"

I tell her everything that happened last night, leaving out only the awkwardness before the anthem started.

"And you think that there are more of these boxes buried in the arena?"

"The Gamemakers aren't going to make the Games boring. Of course there are. They don't want us defenceless; it'd be far too predictable that way."

"Perhaps," is all she says.

"The District Two girl is dead," Oran states, "so there's only three Careers left. We're even now."

"That means if we can find Ethon we'll have an advantage…" Cho pauses, deep in thought, and then says, "I suggest we start looking today."

This suggestion is answered with silence.

"Well, why not?"

"Just seems a little sudden," Oran says, "it's safe here. For now."

"Exactly, _for now. _Who knows how long that'll last? There are only eight of us left and it's the third day. These Games are pretty much a failure, and the audience know it. The Gamemakers are sure to make an appearance soon… most likely today."

Surprisingly, I agree. "Okay," I say, "Where do you want to look first?"

"It's not a matter of looking. It's a matter of tracking, kind of like hunting an animal. We'll use the trees."

I gulp. Trees.

"I don't climb," I snap.

Oran pats me on the back; a gesture that he must assume is comforting. However, it only brings back the butterflies from last night, making me more nervous. "It's the safest way. We'll help you."

Cho looks as if helping me is the last thing she wants to do. "Yeah, you can carry Blondie."

I scowl.

* * *

"Stop shaking," Oran whispers, smirking as he treads carefully across the branch of a pine tree. My arms are wrapped around his neck and my legs straddle his hips from behind. It's awkward, but I'm so consumed by fear that I don't dwell on that.

"Shut up," Cho hisses from further up the branch. She leaps to the next tree and becomes invisible, covered by the thick pine needles.

"We don't have to do that, do we?" I whimper and bury my head against Oran's back to try and hide. I feel nauseas.

"Yep," he chuckles as he too, leaps. The branch underneath us sways a little upon impact and I let out a little sob.

"Regret choosing me as an ally yet?" I murmur, eyes scanning the ground for any sign of movement, as I have been told to do. He must be. I've been reduced to a quivering mess by a fear of heights.

Oran laughs again, but it's as quiet as a whisper. He doesn't answer my question, so I begin to fear not only of heights, but for myself. _What if he decides to take care of me now? I must be of no use to him._

It kills me to do it, but I begin to slowly untangle myself from Oran. "You know what? I think I'm alright… I- I can do this myself."

He looks disbelieving, but lets me go anyway. "Go on then," he says, "in front of me. In case you fall."

_In case you fall. _

I'm shaking even more now, but I force myself to edge my way up the tree branch, slipping every now and then. I don't have the skilled, precise footing of Cho and Oran, but I manage it in the end.

"Jump," Oran instructs, his breath warm against my ear. "It's not that far."

It's not. It's only about a metre, but I'm terrified of falling. The impact wouldn't kill me, but an injury in the arena almost always means death. Cho would be the first to send an arrow into my limp body, declaring that I'd be of no use to them anymore. I'd be a burden.

"I can't do this," I breathe.

Oran sighs. He puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles, creating a bird-like sound. Cho is with us in minutes, an annoyed look on her face. "What?" she snaps.

"I reckon we should have a short break and think about what we're trying to do here."

"But we know what we're doing!"

"Be quiet," he warns, then takes a deep breath and continues, "Altaira and I don't, not really. We're just following you."

Cho makes an angry, guttural sound in her throat. "I... I passed a campfire around here yesterday when I was... um, hunting. I didn't want to investigate alone, so... I, uh, headed back to camp. I'm sure it was Ethon though."

I find her story unconvincing, somehow.

"You don't think he could have moved on?"

She shook her head. "If he did, not far. He would have-" Then she pauses, her eyes glittering.

Abruptly, there's a hand around my neck, choking the air out of me. My attacker holds a knife just below my jaw, just touching the skin there.

"Move and I kill her."

The voice is a deep one, gravelly with thirst. My eyes feel wet, and they sting. _I'm crying, _I realize.

Shock and anger clouds Oran's face as he quickly stows the knife back in his belt. He'd grabbed it upon noticing my predicament. Cho looks a little smug, she'd found what she was looking for.

"Let her go," Oran says, his teeth clenched, "now."

"No," Cho says calmly, grinning at him, "she doesn't mean anything to us."

I blink back more tears. I knew I meant nothing to her, but… to Oran? Maybe something, albeit something miniscule. I remember our kiss, my first, only a couple of days ago. The way he'd held me as we slept the past two nights. His constant teasing before the Games, the way he'd told me about his sisters. His sisters whom he loved more than life itself.

Oran turns to face Cho now, betrayal written all over his face. He's come to a realization… one I haven't figured out yet.

Cho turns to smile at Ethon, a dazzling smile. A friendly smile. "How's it going on your end?"

Then I get it. We've been tricked.

"Oran-" is all I have time to choke out before Ethon begins to constrict my neck tighter. Fortunately, Oran's understood. He looks at me, his eyes red. This is our end. He knows it, they know it, and I know it.

_I love you dad, _I think.

* * *

Sorry, cliffhanger! This is most definetely not the end of the story! Please review :-)


	9. Chapter Nine

Hey all! Thanks so much for the reviews, I loved them :-) Anyway, this chapter is extremely short. I kept it this way because it felt right to end it there, and I'm changing POV's for Chapter Ten. So, enjoy!

* * *

Starbright Victor

Altaira Izek

Chapter Nine: Guilt

* * *

Betrayal. It flashes throughout me like fire, burning every inch of my skin and organs. The golden knife in my belt suddenly feels extremely heavy. I've never been more aware of its presence, and I'm burning with anger. _Cho tricked me! I'd never been outsmarted in my life!_

Oran seems slow, sluggish. He doesn't even blink as Cho wraps her arm around his neck; the same way my attacker constricts my air pipe.

"Take her bag, Ethon," Cho snarls, yanking a knife from Oran's belt and placing it threatening at his neck. She grins directly at me, "Uh oh. Looks like Barbie lost her accessories!"

That pisses me off. "I'm not a fucking-" but Ethon constricts my air pipe again. I stand there for a few seconds, surprised by my own language.

Then I realize something. This is all happening in a tree. I start to feel dizzy. _I'm going to die in a tree. I'll probably fall; they'll drop me and torture me. They're going to drop me from a pine tree, and my bones will snap like chalk. _I look down. Bad idea. The branch we're standing on is swaying slightly, it's going to break if we stand here for much longer. The others don't realize this, but Ethon's footing is not great, like mine. If only I was to…

That's it. This could save us. If I could just push him off the branch somehow, he'd fall to the ground, injured. But then Cho could surely send an arrow into me before I could even _reach_ for my knife. She was a true hunter.

Ethon takes my bag roughly, ripping at the material with his strong hands. This is my chance, and I have no choice but to take it.

I kick Ethon in the ankle and he stumbles, slipping off the branch. I try to steady myself, but my foot slips along with his. I quickly reach for my knife as I steady myself, but Cho's already aiming Oran's own blade directly at my heart.

I've never seen her throw a knife.

She lets go of it, and it sails past me, hitting Ethon squarely in the shoulder and forcing him to fall backwards, off the branch. My blood is pumping, adrenalin rushing throughout me as I aim my own knife. Ethon's body lands with a limp _thud_ below us.

_Can I really do this? Can I really take a life?_

But I have no time to hesitate as the sharp blade leaves my hand. It's a good throw, and my knife lodges itself into Cho's chest, not far from where I'd intended it to go. She flails, letting go of Oran and slashing his arm with his own knife in the process. She topples backwards, clutching at her bleeding wound as she also falls to the ground.

I quickly grab hold of Oran's arm to steady him, but he's already standing upright, looking slightly shocked.

One cannon fires.

"We're not dead," he says, bewildered, wiping the small trickle of blood from his forearm.

"Not yet, anyway," I snap, "we have to get down there." And so, without permission, I jump onto Oran's back and he begins to make his way down the tree as quickly and as quietly as possible. When we reach the forest floor, I untangle myself from him and run towards Cho's limp body. Her face is set in a permanent sneer, her eyes glassy and unseeing. Blood runs heavily from my knife's puncture wound. Looking away, I wrench it from her body and toss it away from me, disgusted.

Not so far away, I hear the same wet sound as I had in the maze that day, when Oran had killed the District Three boy. There is a low, painful moaning sound, then another cannon fires. Ethon is dead.

_Nineteen dead. Five alive._

These Games are a failure, and everyone knows it.

My head falls into my hands and I weep. _What would my father think of me now? His daughter, a murderer? Surely he would think of me differently._

Tears run down my cheeks, like rain runs down a window. I can't see, everything is misty and clouded. I continue to cry, and I hardly notice when Oran joins me. He wraps his arms around me and I lean into him, sobbing.

_What is he to me? A friend? Only one of us can live._

As I cry that one thought comes back to haunt me: _I am going to die._

So, selfishly, I weep for myself. I weep for my father, for my Avox mother who I have not spared a thought for in these past few days. I weep for the strong boy - no, man - who holds me in his arms. He smells of the harvest, a rich smell of wheat and grain. A memory of his smirk, the boy with the forest-green eyes comes to mind. Was he still that same, innocent boy? No, he was a killer now. And so was I.

"It's alright, it's alright," he soothes, presses his face into my golden hair, "It's okay."

But it's not. Nothing will ever be the same. For the both of us.

He grips my face in his hands, his blood-stained hands, turns me to face him and kisses me. It's not the same as the first night in the cave; it's not for an experiment. This is real. This kiss is raw and truthful, burning and passionate.

I pull away from him. I feel like I'm caked in mud, covered in a layer of grime. Nineteen children, brutally murdered in the arena. Their hearts never to beat again. Their lungs never to take in another breath. Their hands never to be held again. Guilt washes over me.

"I need to bathe," I whisper, looking up at Oran. We both know that we don't have long, the Careers will seek us out and we'll be dead and gone, just like Cho and Ethon. Then they'll fight between themselves until only one heart beats. The Capitol would have their _glorious_ victor.

I felt like retching.

Oran takes my hand and we stand slowly and begin the long walk back to the cave. The only known source of water, a stream I can hopefully wash away my guilt in. Deep down, I know it won't work... but still, I feel as if I have to try.

I hear the sound of the hovercrafts behind us, our victim's bodies being lifted away from this retched place. The Capitol's surgeons will look over them, eliminating any gory wounds or scars. hiding anything we'd inflicted on them. Then they'll be boxed up and shipped home to their families, all shiny and new.

_Boxed up like objects, _I think, _but faulty objects. Dead objects._

And then I have to stop, as I crouch down and throw up into the bushes. I feel wrong, not human. Oran doesn't say anything, but I know he feels the same. The guilt swallows us both, enveloping us in its dark clutches.


	10. AN: Please Read! Not giving up!

Author's Note; Please read. I am not stopping writing/taking a break. Just telling you what's been goin' on and why I haven't updated yet!

* * *

Hi guys!

I know how much everybody hates author's notes, but please hear me out. No, I am not giving up on this story. No, I am not taking a break. And no, I am most certainly not telling you that it's not going to work out...

What I'm saying here, is this; I'm sorry that I haven't updated this story for so long, I've just been really busy being back at school and I haven't been on the internet for aaaaages. I will most likely be working on Chapter Ten tomorrow or the next day, it's a quarter of the way done and usually I can write a chapter in an hour or two. I'm trying to make this story unpredictable and different, you see. I'd write it now but it's already almost one o'clock in the morning here in Australia, and I'm really behind on my sleep!

Cheers for reading this terribly boring old thing, I promise that the next thing I post will include more Altaira and Oran action!

Please review and let me know what you'd like to see happen next :-)

- what the face


	11. Chapter Ten

A/N: Okay, I am sooo sorry for the very late update. I just didn't have the inspiration to write until now, to be honest. I hope you'd rather I waited until tonight to write it, the post it, otherwise the chapter would have been absolute crap! Thankyou for your reviews, and faith if you haven't given up on me because of my horrible updating... haha. Well, it hasn't been too bad until now :/ So yeah... that's all! Enjoy! Oh and please review! :-)

* * *

Starbright Victor

Oran Gray

Chapter Ten: Different People

* * *

_Before me I saw faces. Some I recognised, others I didn't. Occasionally, one stood out from the crowd. I tried to call out to them, but my voice was stuck in my throat. The teenagers before me continued to stare, blank and unmoving. I saw Saresh among them and I attempted to get her attention. But she looked on past me, either ignoring me or just not seeing me. As it dawned on me who they were, I figured it was the latter. _

_In front of me stood the dead tributes. There were hundreds of them, so many of them that I couldn't see an ending to their large group. They held many differences. Some were pale skinned; others as tanned as I was. Their features and bodies ranged in size and shape. They were all unique._

_But there was also a similarity between them. Their faces were gaunt and malnourished, and deep purple shadows hung under their eyes. The work the Capitol surgeons had done to their bodies was wasted. Their battle wounds and scars stayed etched on their skin and bones here. Wherever _here _was._

_As I watched them, listening to their eerie silence, it dawned on me that I would most likely join them within a matter of days._

_Suddenly, their eyes lit up, their arms reaching for me. They swarmed at me, stepping over one another to clutch at me. I tried to move, but my feet were glued to the ground. I stumbled, falling flat on my back as their hands clasped at my skin. They pushed and shoved each other out of the way, screaming in a language I didn't understand. I was shaking, trying desperately to un-stick my feet. I screamed, but no sound was made. The cracking of bones was heard as they tore at each other, hurtling themselves at me. They reached for my chest, and I pushed them off of me. Screaming was everywhere, although not my own._

_Saresh reached me then, she placed her head against my chest, her black hair billowing around her. I wanted to ask her what she was doing, but I could not speak, I could only watch. _

_She was wrenched off of me then, and an unknown tribute frantically grabbed at my shirt, trying to find something. She was pushed away, replaced by a young girl who I recognised to be the girl from District Twelve. Bella? Or Belle? I did not know for sure._

_She bent down and placed her head to my chest, just like Saresh had done. I realized then what they were trying to do._

_They wanted to hear my heart beat._

* * *

I do not jolt awake, as is the norm these days. My eyes slowly open, taking in my surroundings. I smell the rain before I hear it dripping softly onto the roof of the cave. Altaira is asleep on the other side of the cave, tear-tracks dried on her cheeks. She'd refused to sleep next to me earlier tonight, so we'd both fallen asleep shivering in our thin arena clothes.

I remember my dream then. I'm not scared anymore, but I'm certainly curious. _Was that a really dream, or _something else_?_ I wonder. Confused, I try to push it from my mind and focus on my ally.

But I can't. I can see her resemblance to them, too. Her cheeks are hollow where they used to be full, and there are deep purple circles under her eyes. I am sure that if I could get my hands on a mirror I'd find that I looked very much the same.

Glinting in the dim light, the silver wristwatch on her wrist captures my attention. I shuffle towards it, interested, and take her wrist in my hands. I examine the strange pattern on it, unable to decipher exactly what it is, as I had never been taught. My education, along with everyone else's back home, is inadequate.

Altaira stirs, mumbling something about her father and wrenching her wrist from my grasp. I sigh and pull out my own district token, the picture my sisters had painted me. There I am, standing proudly with the Victor's Crown atop my poorly painted head. I shove it roughly back into my pocket. If only it were that simple.

Involuntarily, a tear drips down my cheek. I quickly brush it away, not wanting my family back home to see my weakness caught on camera.

It certainly isn't simple in this arena. In fact, I think this place is about the furthest thing from simple. Beside me is a girl, a plain girl with an extraordinary amount of brains. A girl that I probably wouldn't have noticed if I had been at home. Yet now, for some reason, I find her beautiful. Further away, but really not so far away at all, there are the Career tributes. They wait, sharpening their weapons and talking strategies, preparing to kill us. But... that's what Cho said anyway, and I can't really trust anything she told us.

My life could have only hours left. Minutes left. _Seconds _left.

I stroke Altaira's golden hair. It feels like silk, something I had never had the pleasure of touching before I was picked at the reaping.

The reaping. The horrible event that had brought me so much pain.

I fewl so much rage in this moment, yet my eyes well up as if I am sad. I cannot help it, but I sob softly as I stroke Altaira's hair. Almost immediately, she sits upright and watches me with a sad expression. My hand continues to rest on her head.

"Oh, Oran," she whispers, cuddling into me. I stroke her hair as she draws patterns on my back with her fingers, soothing me. We fall asleep in each others arms.

* * *

When I wake up next, Altaira is staring down at me, her hair in a halo around her face. Her eyes are moist with tears, as mine had been a few hours ago. I reach up to brush one from her cheek with my thumb, and she closes her eyes at my touch.

"I never thought I'd make it this far, you know," she says, her voice shaky. "I didn't think I'd make it past the first day, actually."

I pull her into my arms once more. Rain pitter-patters on the cave's roof, reminding me of home. I note that it is still dark outside as I press my nose to the top of her head. Her tears leak onto my shirt, but in this moment I don't mind. She is comfort, my only comfort in the arena.

"My dad told me I could, but I didn't believe him. Only now…" she pauses and wipes her eyes, "I'm not sure if I want to win. I know that I'll get to go home to my father, but I'll have to deal with – with Cho's death."

I don't say anything but I know she knows that I understand.

"And if I win, then you have to die," she whispers. "And now that I know you… I don't think I'd be able to deal with that either."

I kiss her hair, which only makes her sob more.

"Did you know that you're the closest thing to a friend I've ever had, Oran?"

I grimace and hug her closer. "Is that what we are?"

I can feel her smiling against my chest. "I don't know exactly what we are."

I think about that. Sure, I like her, but everything in the arena is too complex. Nothing can be done about it.

"Friends," I lie.

She laughs, and then sniffs, wiping her tears away once more. "Do friends usually kiss one another where you're from?"

I chuckle, although I don't exactly know what to say. "No," I settle for.

Altaira wriggles around in my arms so that she can look up at me. She brushes a lock of my hair from my face and grimaces. "Then we're a little more than friends," she says sadly.

I nod slowly, my face echoing her own sad expression.

"Sometimes I wonder what we would be if we weren't here," I say, "If one of us didn't have to die."

"We'd be different people," she replies, pushing her hand through my hair.

"Happier people."

"Or perhaps even sadder people."

I have to smile at her logic.

"But most likely I'd be doing my homework right now."

I laugh. "Were you the school nerd?"

Altaira pokes me in the rib, but she chuckles. We laugh quietly, and then lay in silence listening to the rain. The silence isn't awkward, it's a familiar silence. I feel comfortable. I feel… at home.

"The Gamemakers must be picking on the Careers."

I wince. "Let's not talk about them tonight, okay?"

Altaira looks up at me again; her bright blue eyes now dry. "Okay."

Before I can help it, I lean down to kiss her. It's a quick kiss, but as soon as I pull back, her hands catch my face and pull me back down to her. Oblivious to anything else, my tongue traces her teeth and I fist my hand in her hair. Her hands are on my neck, pulling me down to her as she bites softly at my bottom lip. I run my hands up and down her arms as I move to kiss just below her ear.

"Why does there have to be an ending to this?" she whispers, panting slightly as I caress the skin there with my lips. "It's not fair. There could be so much more to us…"

I can't help but smile into her neck, nuzzling against her with my nose. I've never liked a girl before Altaira, and in that moment, I certainly don't want to like another girl ever again. Her smell envelopes me, and before long I am kissing her again. She's crying again, but she doesn't stop kissing me back. I can taste the saltiness of her tears and I pull away from her to gently kiss each eyelid. She exhales shakily, her hands lazily messing up my hair.

"I can understand what people see in this now," she says, smiling sadly.

"See in what?" I whisper, stroking her cheek with my thumb. She nuzzles into my chest again, and I wrap my arms around her.

"You know, in a relationship. An attraction. Affection for another."

I nod, examining a lock of her sun-coloured hair in the dim light of the cave.

"I just wish I had longer. To get used to this, to grow up. I'll never even be an adult," she breathes.

"Hey," I say, cupping her chin in my hand. "You can still win this."

It's true. She can. I don't want her to die, but I don't particularly want to die either.

"But is that really the better outcome?" she asks, "Living the rest of my life, reliving every moment of the Games and feeling guilty about it?"

This throws me, because I don't know. I honestly don't.

Altaira sniffs again, and my hand slips from her chin to resume stroking her hair. "We should get some sleep," I say.

"Yeah," she agrees, although I can tell that her voice is once again shaky. She will be hard to reach in the morning, and I know it only too well. I press my lips to her hair as she shuts her eyes.

I try to sleep. I really do.

But I eye her wristwatch for the majority of time until morning, unable to rid myself of the feeling that it is not at all what it seems.


	12. Chapter Eleven

Starbright Victor

Oran Gray

Chapter Eleven: Great Heights

* * *

Sure enough, when I wake up Altaira is no where in sight. I smile sleepily, turning over onto my back and looking at the ceiling of the moist, dripping cave. I count the drops of dew and breathe slowly, in and out, in and out. She'll be back soon, maybe she's gone to get some water. Then I start to panic.

Careers.

I freak out, jumping to my feet and edging toward the entrance of the cave quietly. I try to not make a sound as I walk, careful to keep close to the cave walls.

"Um, hi?"

I jump, terrified, and slam back into the rock wall. There she is, standing holding the supplies I'd saved from Ethon's limp body. I grin.

"Hey," I say softly, reaching for her. But Altaira has different plans, she dodges my arms and crouches down and begins counting out the various items and weapons.

"How many knives have you got now?" she asks me, avoiding my eyes.

"Two."

"Okay, then we're even. I think today we should go looking for another box. There's bound to be more of them further into the forest."

"Uh, yeah. Alright," I say. I stand there in silence waiting for her to say something else, but she doesn't say a thing. She continues to go over the supplies, counting and re-wrapping them, so I offer to fill the water bottles once more.

When she hands them to me, she is careful not to so much as brush my fingers, which I find a little annoying. Bristling, I grab them and take them outside to the stream and fill them. I wash my face too, wiping the layer of dust from my skin. Then I return to find Altaira _still_ counting, although of course it is no longer necessary.

I don't want to say anything. But I do anyway.

"Why are you being so weird?"

She doesn't look up.

"Ally?"

"Don't call me that name," she snaps, turning her sapphire gaze on me, her eyes narrowed.

"Why?" I ask, provoking her. I want her to talk to me, to comfort me like last night. If I have to annoy her to hear her speak, then so be it.

"Just don't."

"But why?"

"I don't like it," she lies.

"Tell the truth."

She groans. "Why? Why does it even matter?" Her eyes narrow in rage, "Why do you want to know so badly?"

I pause, taking a deep breath. "Because I like you, Ally. You're the only girl I've ever felt this way about."

Altaira looks away, not bothering to tell me off for calling her by that name. I can see that she's grinning slightly, but it doesn't stop me from being nervous. Her expression turns serious.

"My mother used to call me Ally."

I crouch down beside her, not touching her, as I know I'd most likely be pushed away. "Your mother?"

"She's – she's an Avox. My father and I were told that she was dead, but when I came here I saw her. And now I know the truth," she takes a bottle from me and drinks. I can't say anything, because I don't really understand.

"Do you know why they took her?"

She shrugs. "I guess… well, she never told me about her childhood."

"So, you think she could have been from the Capitol?"

"Most likely. They only make Avox's out of Capitol traitors. And how could she have been a Capitol traitor unless she was a Capitol citizen?" she takes another swig from her bottle.

"I'm not sure," I say.

We sit in silence then, filling ourselves with water before we set out to look for another box full of supplies. There's so much I don't know about her.

* * *

"Don't you think we should be a little more… I don't know, quiet?" I ask.

Altaira stomps around on the ground in front of me, pausing and listening to the sounds of her footfalls. I keep watch, my eyes darting from tree to tree, looking for any sign of movement. We don't want to be ambushed.

"You be quiet," she snaps, continuing her stomping.

I sigh.

The forest around us is becoming thinner and thinner, and it's worrying me. How do we honestly know which way we are headed? We could be walking right into a trap. I wish we'd just stayed back at the cave.

"This is hopeless," she mutters. "Why can't I – _shit!"_

But Altaira hasn't found a box. She's found something else.

"What is it?"

She can't speak, she only points. I follow the direction of her outstretched finger and come across her discovery. In the bushes not too far away, there lies an injured tribute.

The boy from District Two.

I don't move.

"Altaira, it's a trap," I whisper, panic seeping into my voice. My eyes scan my surroundings once more, and I can feel my heart hammering in my chest. This isn't fair. This is the end. Both of us are going to die.

"No," she hisses. "It's not, look."

She slowly approaches the boy, taking in his injuries. "Who did this to you?" she asks him, but it's of no use. He's passed out, and he's losing a lot of blood.

I gently push her away. "Don't look," I tell her, as I plunge my knife into his heart. The same feeling of sick, animalistic pleasure shoots through me. The cannon fires.

There are only four of us left now.

I pull my knife from his body, then check his backpack for supplies. None. He is of no use to us.

I feel sick as I realize what I'd just thought, but push it to the back of my mind. I'm here to win, to return home to my family. I look at my ally, the girl I have feelings for, and am reminded once again that for me to go home, she will have to die. In fact, if by some sort of miracle we are the last ones left, I may have to kill her.

"You're everything you seem, aren't you?"

Altaira looks confused, "Yes. Of course."

I nod. I'd expected so much of her, but now I find that I don't care. She is smart, kind and beautiful. Yes, she is beautiful. But not in an ordinary way. She is beautiful in the way she walks, in the way she smiles. Even in the way she is angry.

"What are you looking at?" she asks, her eyes flashing.

I smirk. "Nothing."

And then we walk on, ignoring the sound of the hovercraft in the distance. Altaira continues her stupid stomping, and I walk with my knife at the ready.

You can never be too careful.

* * *

We don't find anything that day.

As night falls, I help Altaira settle herself in the fork of a tree, but she won't have any of it. She stares at the ground longingly, clutching at the branch so tightly that her knuckles turn white.

I decide to keep watch, something we've been neglecting lately. I don't see anybody, aside from the occasional rabbit or owl. I wonder if they pity us.

I find myself mindlessly stroking Altaira's hair as she sleeps, and when it's time to swap positions, I can't help but wake her up by kissing her. She pulls away from me and sits upright, blinking rapidly. "Can I keep watch on the ground?" she whispers.

I chuckle. "Too dangerous."

Her annoyed scowl is the last thing I see before I fall asleep.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**A/N: **Got a little stuck on this one. Just couldn't find the right way to explain what I imagined this chapter in words. I get that a lot, I guess. Oh well, I've done my best. It's a short chapter, but it's an important one. Only a few more left and this story is finished, I think. Cheers for your reviews, and enjoy!

* * *

Starbright Victor

Altaira Izek

Chapter Twelve: I Think I Love You

* * *

Thud. Thud. Thud. _Clang._

"Oran!" I call, crouching down and digging in the dirt. I've found one, _finally_ after two long days of searching; I've found another metal supplies box.

Another pair of hands joins my digging as Oran reaches me. We dig until we feel metal under our fingertips. I reach for the golden knife and pry around the edges of the slightly larger box.

"I knew there were more," I murmur, digging faster and faster. _Whatever is in this box could be my secret to winning the Games,_ I think. Oran begins to haul it from the hole and I reach out to help him, leaving the blade on the ground beside us. We lift it from the dirt and place it on the forest floor, where I hastily undo the latch and fling the lid back.

Inside there are only two items, but they are items of great importance and power. Oran takes the first in his hands, smirking. It's a crossbow, his weapon of choice. Attached to it is a quiver of twelve arrows. I take the remaining object in my own grasp, marvelling in its sinister beauty.

It's a sword. A sword with a hilt of gold and glistening emerald gems. I'd never trained with a sword back in the Capitol, and now I find myself wishing I had.

It's heavy, but I lift it out of the metal box with little difficulty.

"I don't even know how to use this," I say, glancing at Oran who is admiring his own weapon. He looks up, interested, to examine it.

"I can teach you," he offers, "Chaff taught me a little back at the Training Centre. But I only know the basics."

"Who's Chaff?"

"He's my mentor."

But there's more to it than that. I can tell by the way he's looking at me, trying to find the right words.

"And, uh… he's my uncle, too."

_His uncle?_

I can't even begin to imagine what that must have been like, I hardly knew Danaus at all. If she had been my aunt… would I have thought differently about her?

"Oh."

"Yeah… it's kind of weird, I guess. And then again not so weird, seeing as I haven't received any special treatment." He looks toward the sky expectantly, as if hoping Chaff will hear him and send him something.

"I haven't either," I say, "Although I'm not that surprised. I never thought I'd have that many sponsors. You got a ten for your training score though… so I'd imagine he's just waiting for when you really need something."

"Maybe."

"So you'll teach me?"

"Sure."

So, we spend the next two days practicing combat, using tree trunks as fake enemy tributes and trying to push the idea of death as far away from us as we can.

It's almost impossible, yet we try. We teach each other what we know, preparing for battle against the Careers, and ultimately, each other. I imagine that bets are being placed, Capitol citizens placing money on my life. I doubt I'll get many votes, especially when I'm up against three older, stronger tributes. Including the boy I'm pretty sure I love.

I realize this on the second afternoon, when Oran pauses combat to slip his shirt over his head to escape the harsh heat of the day. On his torso, there are scars. Tiny, white, puckered lines that have been poorly healed. I don't ask what they're from; as I respect that we all have our own secrets. But still, I am curious. And it shows.

Because there it is, that charming smirk of his has returned. It lights up his grimy face and makes his forest-coloured eyes sparkle.

"What?" he asks, laughing as he drops his shirt carelessly onto the floor.

I blush. "I think I love you," I say, then regret it instantly. His stance remains composed, but his face betrays him. It's lit up even more, imitating the bright sunlight that cascades down through the tree tops. It makes the arena beautiful, a place of death and bloodshed a place of wonder.

"I think I love you too, Altaira."

* * *

We spend that night in each others arms, again not bothering to keep watch. We're as ready as we'll ever be, but there are more important things on our minds. We talk about our families, our plans for the future. Oran wants to have a family of his own, I want to be a scientist. He listens intently to everything I say, playing with a long lock of my golden hair as he does so.

"Do you think you would have married me, if things were different?" he asks, stunning me into a temporary silence.

"I'm only sixteen," I quip.

"I don't mean now…" he chuckles, "I mean, if, somehow, you'd been born in District Eleven and we'd met each other there. If we'd grown up together."

"Oh."

His eyes are greener than ever, and he stares into my own without any embarrassment. It makes butterflies in my stomach.

"I don't know if things would be the same."

Oran nods. "You know, if I could think of one good thing that's come out of these Games, it'd be meeting you."

I laugh quietly. "If I didn't feel the same way, I'd think you were being corny…" he smirks and I have to smile, "I know you're not, though."

"I _can_ be pretty corny though."

"Oh really?"

"Well, I did harvest corn back home."

I snort and gently punch him on the arm. He reaches out to capture it in his hand though, entwining our fingers to become one. His lips meet mine and our limbs become tangled, which is quite a feat as we are perched on a tree branch. The air between us is heavy, and something like lust circulates between us. His kisses cover my neck and my breathing becomes more rapid, my heart beating in my chest. I've never felt anything like this before, this burning sensation I feel where his skin touches mine. Even in the cold night air of the arena, I am warm. Somehow, his body is suddenly pressed against mine, and tingles run up and down my spine. I pull my lips away from his, and shift a little so I can look at him.

His hair is dishevelled, and his lips are a little swollen. His face is full of curiosity and wonder, echoing my own.

"We- we can't. Not here," I manage to choke out.

He stares at me, blankly at first, but then finally understanding covers his face. He nods slowly, and I search his face for any sign of hurt. But there is none, and I know that we both understand. No way could we do _that _here, not in this arena, where cameras watch our every move. If only things were different.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

Oran shakes his head. "It's not _our_ fault. Don't worry, I understand."

I turn around then, and his arms wrap around my waist. His face nuzzles into my hair, and I shut my eyes as I will sleep to take me. In an unspoken agreement, somehow we know.

Tomorrow at dawn, we fight.

* * *

**A/N: **Cornnnnyyy! Please review. Thanks for reading.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**A/N: **My apologies for the late update! I just couldn't get it right. I wanted it to be perfect, even though I don't think I have even accomplished that now. However, this is the final chapter of the story. I will include an epilogue, most likely posted within the next few hours. I was rather sad writing this chapter, and I hope you feel what I was trying to convery throughout it. Thank you so much for sticking with this story to the very end :)

* * *

Starbright Victor

Oran Gray

Chapter Thirteen: Cornucopia

* * *

By sunset the next day we reach the edge of the maze. We crouch behind the crumbling wall that was blown apart by Hook's explosive and watch from afar.

"I thought they would've moved by now," Altaira whispers, throwing me a worried look. This is it, and she knows it. I know it too. My stomach is practically eating itself.

Ahead of us, Hook and Glow lounge on the ground, their heads resting on their backpacks by the Cornucopia. Food litters the ground around them, and flies hover over the decomposing rubbish. I can't see if they're asleep or passed out. I would have suspected one of them to be keeping watch.

"Do you think they got in some sort of trouble with the Gamemakers?" I wonder out loud. Anything could have happened to them, but they most certainly weren't dead yet. That was for sure. There would have been cannon fire to be heard, bodies to be lifted out of the arena. I would have to kill either Altaira… or myself.

"Maybe."

"What do you want to do?"

Altaira shuts her eyes in thought, wincing slightly as she comes up with her judgement. "Ambush them."

I nod, slowly at first, then rapidly. "I… I could shoot them."

I turn to face her, my side facing the Careers camp. Altaira is also nodding, but her eyes are slightly red. She sniffs. "Hey," I say, trying to sound soothing, but my voice comes out slightly rough. I search my mind for something to tell her, but I can't find anything. I can't reassure her that everything is going to be fine. Because, for one of us, it isn't.

In fact, perhaps for the both of us.

And even if one of us wins the Games, they will be haunted by this day. This past week. This past month. I don't know how long it's been.

Because I can't say anything, I once again take her into my arms. She leans against me and cries, not afraid to show her weaknesses anymore. We sit like that for about half an hour, not keeping guard, just remembering the feel of each other.

"I'm going to shoot them now," I say softly, pushing her blonde hair out of her eyes and untangling myself from her. I give her a quick, soft but passionate kiss on the lips.

"No," she says, "Then it'll just be us."

_Just us._

I remove my Crossbow from my back, trying to push that out of my mind. Arming it with my first arrow, I kneel behind the wall and get ready to aim. Altaira crawls away, sobs wrenching through her gut. She finds an undamaged wall and leans back to rest her head against it, shutting her eyes and most likely imagining her home. Her father, whom she had once told me about on one of our many nights spent in eachother's embrace. Her mother, now an Avox, a slave to the Capitol.

I take a brief moment to imagine my own family. Mum. Dad. Indigo and Azura. Maybe, I will see them again. I _have _to see them again.

Green eyes steely, I lift my bow and position it. Two precise shots, that's all I need. If this works, Altaira and I will deal with what comes to us. One of us will die. The other will live.

Fingers shaking slightly in anticipation, I secure my aim.

I am stabbed in the back.

* * *

Altaira Izek

* * *

His strangled cry of anguish alerts me to their presence.

I see Glow first, crouched on top of the wall, holding three knives in her hand, poised to throw. She is every bit violently beautiful, but underneath those tanned, waxed limbs there is menace. Menace she has trained her whole life for.

My eyes dart quickly to my ally, my first love. My Oran. Blood pools from the wound in his back, and his eyes roll backwards. I scream hysterically. I cannot stop myself.

The cannon fires.

In a fit of rage, I throw my first knife in the direction of his murderer. It's a poor throw, and she dodges it easily, her eyes alight with satisfaction. Tears cloud my vision and my breathing comes in short, shallow gasps. My only friend… the only person other than my parents I've ever truly connected with. Gone.

I yell profanities at the top of my lungs as Hook comes barrelling into the scene. His eyes also light up when he sees Oran's dead body, and then his gaze catches mine. The corners of his lips tilt upwards in a sly sneer.

He's on me quicker than I can react, pulling me over his shoulder with incredible strength. Glow lands with a soft thump on the ground below the wall and removes her knife from Oran's back. I can't stop screaming, I beat the back of Hook's shoulders with my fists. I kick him in the knees. I try to bite him, to scratch him with my fingernails. He doesn't make a noise, not even when I reach back towards his face to claw at it and draw blood.

"Why don't you kill me?" I screech, my voice breaking as I cry, "Or are you going to torture me first?"

Glow's dazzling smile answers my suspicions.

Hook slams me against a stone pillar, part of the crumbling maze. My bones crack and I hit my head. Everything is spinning, and blood is dripping from my wrists. What are they doing? _Why _are they doing it?

He removes a coil of steel wire from his pocket and straps my arms and legs to the pillar. A gurgle escapes my throat as he also straps my neck. The pain is unbearable, metal cutting into my skin and drawing blood.

As they begin to torture me, I drift further and further away from consciousness. Is this what it feels like to die? Is this what Oran felt just minutes before?

My screaming becomes something I don't have to think about. The same strangled noise of fear continues to leave my body, whether or not I know exactly what they are doing.

Glow, especially, takes some kind of sick pleasure in my pain. She laughs as she traces her knife around the circle of my eyeball. I don't dare move, or the wires will dig in deeper. What happened to the girl who walked into the snare at training? Who finally laughed with everybody else as she hung suspended in the air?

She is gone. Just like my mother's voice, my father's hugs, and Oran's life. Soon… my life.

Glow works her knife down my arm, and the blood runs thick, but not thick enough to kill me. Oh no, they won't kill me. They are worse than that. They are animals, changed only slightly by the arena.

After an unmeasured period of time, I simply cannot see or hear them anymore.

When I become conscious again, Hook is dead. His body lies, mangled and twisted beneath me. His eyes are blank, but they are open. They scare up at me, unseeing. I scream, for the pure shock of it is unnerving enough to make me lose my mind. How did I miss the cannon? What had killed him? My bets are on Glow.

I cannot see her anywhere, yet my vision has not completely returned. Everything is blurry, but I can make sense of the red that runs over my skin. It matches my clothes. It is my life's blood.

_I am going to die._

I try to wriggle out of the wires, but they rub against my skin and cause more pain. I wail; a sound that sounds more animal than human. What have I done to deserve this? Nothing.

My left eye is losing its vision. Everything is becoming dull, and I feel vulnerable as I consider losing it completely. My father. I think of him now. His kind face, his sapphire eyes that we both share. He told me I could win. _How dad?_ I imagine asking him. _What can I possibly do now?_

The hovercrafts don't come. Oran and Hook's bodies lie still on the ground. Unmoving. Dead. Gone.

That is what I will be soon.

I want to yell for help, but there is no one who would help me now. My ally is dead. His heart has stopped. It is probably better this way.

It's agony, but I turn my head to the left, endangering the soft skin of my neck against the harsh wires. I drag my hand so that I can see it, and I watch the gentle tick-tock of my father's wristwatch, trying to calm my dangerous breathing. What was the point of this gift? What help could it possibly be to me now? Ever?

I stay tied up against the pillar for a long time. My hope is lost, ripped out from inside of me. I was just beginning to trust somebody, and now that somebody is no more.

Tears roll freely down my cheeks. Glow will be back soon, to either torture me some more or finish me off. It's all I can do to hope for the latter. I hate this waiting. Knowing the absolution, but not knowing when it will come.

Minutes? Hours? Days?

_I am going to die._

I have faced these questions before. For once, my own answer doesn't lie within facts, but within compassion. I scream again, thrashing wildly against my binds. Once, my teacher told us of God. I'd already had my doubts, of course, as his existence wasn't proven once in scientific history, but now I wonder how anyone could ever believe. If he was truly there, how could he see this and let it happen?

Children forced to kill other children. This was what our world has come to.

_Don't touch, it might burn your hands off._

The words flash on and off the silver band of the wristwatch so quickly that I'm sure if I'd blinked I would have missed them. Bewilderment crosses my features as for the first time; I notice a small button on the device. It takes me a few minutes, but I finally manoeuvre my finger to press it down.

I grit my teeth as a clear, burning substance is released onto my hands.

_Hydrochloric acid? I've never heard of it._

_It used to be quite common in Ancient America. Caused lots of problems, very acidic._

It catches the wire and dissolves it so that my hands are free. I quickly, with the skill of a budding scientist, apply it to my neck bounds, wincing as it burns and no doubt scars the skin there. Lastly, I release my feet.

How had that even gotten past the Peacekeepers? I wonder, silently sending my father thanks.

As hastily as I can, fighting dizziness and some sort of bad leg, I kneel down by Hook and strap him of his weapons.

Three knives. A slingshot. Poison darts. I ditch the last two.

As I stand up my heap spins, so I take a quick minute to sit down and try to think through my plan. Ambush Glow. Kill Glow. Win Games. Go home. That's all I've got.

It'll have to do.

I find her looking through the Cornucopia, piling useful weapons to use against me at her feet. I'm not the most silent predator around, so I opt for distance. She won't have any idea that I've escaped. How could I have? They'd taken my weapons. They'd left me defenceless. She'd killed her only remaining competition, her own ally. Glow was almost guaranteed her place as victor. She was just having her fun.

My knife hits her in the stomach as she turns and a choking noise escapes her.

It all happens so fast.

Her body falls to the ground. The cannon fires. My hands clap over my mouth. The tears keep flowing. I rush to Oran's body. Claudius Templesmith announces me as victor. A ladder drops down from a hovercraft. I don't climb it. I fight doctors who try to take me away from him. I am sedated.

And still, the one thought circles throughout the vast cavern of my mind: _I am going to die._

But, against all odds, I don't.


	15. Epilogue

**A/N: **The final installment! Thankyou so much for your support and dedication, and please, if you have been reading this story and not reviewing, I would really love it if you left me a quick review now, telling me if you enjoyed this story or not! It would make my day. Anyway, as promised, the end :)

* * *

Starbright Victor

Altaira Izek

Epilogue: Not Guaranteed

* * *

My eyes snap open. The alarm clock I'd hastily put together over a decade ago is buzzing groggily, almost dead. I'm used to this by now though, and the sound has stopped within seconds.

I rub my eyes sleepily. Sunlight filters lazily through our large, roomy window, but I don't have to blink. The sun doesn't affect me anymore. The Capitol surgeons recovered all they could. The world to me now, is dull. I see only half of the colours others can see.

Pushing my blankets off of my torso, I sit upright, wrapping my arms around my knees. _Reaping day._

The moment is almost like a memory.

"Altaira?"

I smile sleepily as he tugs me back to his side, pressing his lips to my neck and nuzzling slightly. I laugh, "Morning."

He mumbles something sleepily that I don't quite catch onto, although I pretend I did, nodding almost numbly. It's like that on these mornings, the mornings when my memories of the arena are most present. I try to forget my time there, but it's nailed into my subconscious. No matter how many times I try, I cannot forget the boy with the forest green eyes.

I even see him in my husband. Sure, they look nothing alike. Hurrel Wayte is fair skinned with blond hair and blue eyes much like my own. It was something else.

It was in the market place that I'd met him as one day I'd wandered aimlessly about town, trying to find resolve somewhere after four long years of waking nightmares. Mostly everyone had ignored me back then, deemed me a person who wanted to be left alone. And I had. I had most definitely felt that way. But as the charismatic man behind the market stall had handed me the Groosling I'd paid for, he'd smirked. I did a double take, blinking rapidly as I forced away the memories of the worst, but also best, time of my life. The likeness between their snarky grins was uncanny, and I couldn't stop myself from staring.

"See something you like?" He'd chuckled.

I'd faltered, stumbling backwards and shaking my head with embarrassment. I had to get out of there. I walked away without another word, my head-spinning and my feet heavy. I was still in love with my Oran, and no one could ever replace him back then.

It wasn't the last time I'd hastily ditched the fair-haired man, but he kept on persisting. Someway, somehow, we'd fallen in love. I would never have though it possible that I would love a boy again, after losing Oran the way I did. But slowly, I healed. Bit by bit, just like a skin wound. We were married a year later. Our only daughter born not so long after that.

"Starbright," Hurrel had suggested, as late one night I'd considered names. At first I thought it was hilarious; a glittery, false, Capitol name. But over the months it grew on me, and I'd never had a doubt since then.

Starbright is sixteen now, as beautiful as a daughter can be in her mothers eyes. Today will be her sixth reaping. This year I have been chosen to mentor. I've tried to avoid it, passing it off to my now friend Danaus, but eventually I am forced into it. Its horrible, and every night I spend in the Capitol I cry myself to sleep. I make it threw it though, as I've taught myself to do.

I never see my mother there. To me, she is still alive. Working somewhere else, serving in the sewers of the Capitol. I try to tell myself that, but deep down I'm always wondering. I guess I'll never know.

My father passed away a few years back, safe and warm, tucked up into bed in the spare room of our house in the Victor's Village. It tore me apart again, and for a week I would not leave my room. Sometimes that happens. I just can't find a reason to get up in the morning.

But I have my family now. I have friends. Oran, in a way, gave this to me.

So this morning, as I prepare for another day of hell, I remember him. In my mind, today is his memorial. The smirk that lingers on the familiar face of my husband is his today. Perhaps this is wrong. But many things are wrong.

I'm pondering this as I stand onstage, Panthera standing my side, held up by his walking frame. The Games caught up with the all of us. My sight. His knees. Dan's back. All of our courage.

The silence of the district below me haunts me, reminding me of my own reaping, so long ago. In the distance, I catch a glance from Hurrel. It's encouraging. It's an _everything will be okay_ glance. I can't exactly replicate it, because I don't believe in it. I haven't for a long time. I settle for a grimace, and then stare away from the crowd to the blurry blue mass that I remember to be the sky.

_Are you up there?_

Bell. Ethan. Cho. Hook. Glow. Oran.

All gone… and so many more. Yet these Games still continue, and almost nobody fights to stop them. I am one of these people. I remain silent for my family's safety.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the female tribute for District Six is… Starbright Wayte!"

Something that isn't even guaranteed.


End file.
